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1 


YOU RE MRS. ROSSMAN, AREN T YOUV 



THE 


COMING OF CAROLINE 


BY y 

MARY E. Q. BRUSH 

M 

Author of “ Island Patty etc. 




O o >JJ 


AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY 

150 NASSAU STREET 

NEW YORK 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 


APR 9 

Copyright 


1903 

Entry 


afn,^,ifd3 

CLASS a. »(C. Nc. 



Copyright, 1903, 

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY 


contents: 


PAGE 

1. On Christmas Eve 5 

2. A New Home 19 

3. A Fresh Inspiration 33 

4. A Ministerial Call 47 

5. The Awakening at St. John^s 62 

6. A Missionary Meeting • 75 

7. Blackthorne Tenements 89 

8. Seeking for the Lost 104 

9. New Relations 116 





I 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


CHAPTER I. 



ON CHRISTMAS EVE. 

[HE big wax doll leaned lan- 
guidly against a divan made 
of boxes containing manicure 
sets, and stared inanely with 
great, blue eyes at Mrs. Rossman. 

When that lady laid her flat on the 
counter the blue eyes closed stupidly, 
and when the lace-trimmed corsage was 
squeezed slightly there was a muffled whirring 
inside, and then there came forth a husky squeak 
which a vivid imagination might affirm was 
“ Mamma!” 

There were crowds of children in the store 
that afternoon of December the twenty-fourth; 
their soft little bodies pushed and jostled Mrs. 
Rossman as she stood there, examining the big 
doll. There were children of all sorts and con- 
ditions — from the petted darling in white plush 


6 


ThJJ coming of CAnOLINF 


cloak and satin hood, to the little match-girl 
in her mother tattered shawl, with a torn 
handkerchief for headgear. 

But not one of the children belonged to Mrs. 
Rossman — more’s the pity! A glance at her 
pale, worn face revealed the hungering mother- 
love, the ever-yearning desire, the bitter con- 
sciousness of loss and desolation. The face 
itself was of the Madonna type with its low, 
broad brow, the waves of hair parting softly 
over it; the deep brooding dark eyes, the tender, 
wistful mouth. 

A rarely beautiful woman had Mrs. Rossman 
once been, when health, joy and the pride of 
life had been hers, but now her countenance 
was as a garden over which a storm has passed. 
Yet she was still young, though a widow and 
childless, and esteeming herself as one who has 
reached the end of the pleasant path marking 
a happy interest in people and things and her 
own affairs. 

She looked with lack-luster eyes at the faces 
of the children thronged about her; their shrill 
clamor jarred upon her nerves, nevertheless, 
something impelled her to watch them. Half 
involuntarily she sought to find in some one 


ON CHRISTMAS EVE 


7 


of the dozen faces a resemblance to the child 
she had loved and lost. But a mocking smile 
soon curled her lips. “Commonplace faces! 
Ordinary faces — every one of them!” she said to 
herself with a mother’s proud partiality. “ Not 
one of them has the soul-sweetness, the grace 
and refinement of my little Lois! They simply 
add to the number of life; she would have 
added to its worth — its tender beauty. But 
she was taken and they are left.” 

Mrs. Rossman laid down the doll — its stiff 
ruffles standing up like blue and white billows all 
around it — and walked quietly out of the store. 

“I was foolish to go in there! I’m sure I 
don’t know what made me! Habit, I suppose, 
or the subtle influence of the season; may be a 
morbid desire to tear open the half-healed 
wound, or a silly whim to gratify myself for 
the moment by imagining that my sorrow was 
but an evil dream; that all was as joyous as it 
once was, and that I must perform the happy 
duty of selecting presents, because it was the 
day before Christmas, and somebody’s bright 
eyes — ah! those dear eyes! — would be all ex- 
pectant for the green tree, and somebody’s 
stockings were to be hung up to-night!” 


8 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


Mrs. Rossman went slowly down the street. 
The frosty air was all a-tinkle with merry 
sleigh-bells; new-fallen snow-drifts flashed and 
sparkled in the sunshine, and a fringe of icicles 
glittered along the eaves of the houses. There 
was sunshine, too, in almost every face, and 
one heard merry bursts of laughter; and voices 
with gay Christmas greetings in them rang 
out here and there. The shops were decked 
with the greenery of laurel and ground-pine, 
and bright with holly-berries; wagons from the 
country came creaking in, trailing the fragrance 
of Christmas trees. 

Suddenly along the white road came a gleam 
of silver-plated harness — a glimpse of horses 
groomed until their backs and limbs shone like 
black satin. There was a lavish display of 
rich fur robes, crimson-lined, with a large, 
luxurious sleigh, its occupants richly and warmly 
arrayed. 

Mrs. Rossman’s eyes followed the fine equi- 
page. “That is Mrs. Gregory!” she said, with 
touch of scorn in her tone. “Her child died 
two years ago — the same day my little Lois 
was taken. She nearly grieved herself to 
death. I’ve been told. She is a middle-aged 


ON CHRISTMAS EVE 


& 


woman — the child was her all! But it seems 
that now she has tried to console herself. She 
has adopted a child — a little girl, a foundling, 
it is said. And Mrs. Gregory’s praises are on 
everybody’s tongue. She has ‘ set an example 
for all childless people of means.’ I heard that 
the minister had spoken of it and commended 
it in prayer meeting the other evening! 

Suffer little children to come unto me’ 
is a saying that seems to be variously construed. 
One of the meanings seems to be that the large, 
empty homes of the wealthy are to become a 
sort of nursery or kindergarten for the offspring 
of the outcast or the indigent. Well!” — here 
Mrs. Rossman’s steps quickened impatiently. 
“Well! as if the holy love of parenthood was 
a thing of barter! You buy, beg or borrow a 
child; feed, clothe and educate it, and in return 
for this it is supposed to give you love and 
reverence. The mystery of the blood-tie, the 
holy right and privilege won by the mother’s 
fond expectation, her painful sufferings — these 
are lost sight of. How can a woman really 
love an adopted child? She might like it, or 
feel an interest in it, but for real love — why,” 
— and here Mrs. Rossman’s small foot came 


10 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


down with a sudden stamp in the soft snow — 
why if I were to take a child into my home I^d 
feel as though I were trying to obliterate the 
image of my dead darling; that I was selfishly 
trying to banish my sacred gift by a bit of mum- 
mery! 

She walked on silently after this fierce little 
outbreak, but her thoughts were still busily at 
work. By this time she had left the main 
street of the town; its merry bells and bustle 
were far behind her; she was on the outskirts 
now; the houses were few and straggling. On 
one side the open fields lay white and glittering 
in the sun. A strip of woodland bordering 
the road reached out evergreen boughs heavy- 
laden with winter’s ermine; there was the 
promise of a splendid sunset in the western sky 
and cloud-jewels of ruby and topaz, pearls and 
amethysts were being strung on threads of gold. 
Something of the beauty and peace of the scene 
began to creep into the heart of the lonely 
woman, hushing in a degree the tumult raging 
there. 

A flock of birds were hopping and twittering 
along the stone wall beside the road, merrily 
feasting in hohday glee on the dry purple 


ON CHRISTMAS EVE 


11 


berries of the woodbine trailing its leafless 
length there. 

^^It is said that he careth for these Mrs. 
Rossman said, and her lip quivered. Not one 
of them shall fall to the ground without his 
knowing it. Is this only a far-away, pretty, 
poetic fancy? If it is something more — if it is 
true ^^ — with sudden energy — ^Hhen how about 
the men and women who fall crushed and 
broken? How about my heart so sore and 
empty? How about my life, void of every- 
thing?^^ Then the thought that had come into 
her mind returned again: 

^^As for my adopting a child myself, she 
continued, reflectively, would be a bit of 
folly! I couldnT even do it even if I wanted to! 
Mrs. Gregory — oh, well, Mrs. Gregory! She is 
rich and able to gratify every whim. But I 
am poor; I cannot pose as a benefactor. I have 
to work hard to support myself, or at least to 
make no large inroads on my small income. 
The feeding and clothing of a child are no small 
items — yet^^ — with swelling breast — ^^yet how 
gladly I could have done it for little Lois ! Self- 
denial, and hardships for her! Toiling until 
late into the night — that would have been a joy 


12 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


and an inspiration! But for no one else! I 
could not have the patience to do it for an 
adopted child !^^ — this last with a little touch 
of contempt. 

By this time Mrs. Rossman had nearly 
reached the little cluster of houses that formed 
one of the suburbs of the town. These build- 
ings had been put up by a real estate agent. 
New the most of them were, all beginning with 
a ghastly attempt at an elaborate Queen Anne 
or Colonial style and ending with a lamentable 
lack of good paint. 

Nothing, however, could be said against the 
respectability of the inmates. The expressman 
lived next door to Mrs. Rossman — an honest, 
worthy man, who had for a spouse a dame of 
Hibernian tongue and temper; the little Jew 
tailor lived across the way; he made, mended 
and pressed male habiliments, and sometimes 
these hung on the clothesline in his front yard, 
or if the weather was inclement, a line strung 
from post to post of the little veranda was 
decked with coats, vests and trousers all swaying 
and dancing in the wind after a manner sug- 
gesting the '^headless horseman^’ of Sleepy 
Hollow. The grocer ^s clerk and the man who 


ON CHRISTMAS EVE 


13 


ran the “ Star Laundry” lived on the right hand 
side of Mrs. Rossman, while directly opposite 
was Miss Spooler, the dressmaker. 

Although she and these same neighbors had 
lived here year in and year out, Mrs. Rossman 
hardly knew one from the other, certainly not 
more than by sight. Their joys and sorrows 
were as a closed book to her ; she was supremely 
indifferent to their affairs. She was, I fear, 
according to the verdict of the dwellers on 
“Stubbs’ Extension,” as the street was un- 
poetically called, “stuck-up.” At any rate it 
must be acknowledged that she was not “ after 
their kind.” She had seen better days, as the 
common expression is. 

Grief, pride and a natural inclination made 
her hold herself aloof from these people who 
were so different from her, but she was not 
ostentatious in her avoidance of them. 

She was blessed with but few worldly posses- 
sions; all she had was a very small income — an 
annuity — and the simple little cottage with its 
five rooms and shed. There was, however, a 
certain refinement about the place. The win- 
dows were always clean and shining; the porch 
floor void of footprints; the little patch of lawn 


14 


THE COMING OP CAROLINE 


was kept closely shorn, well-watered and 
weedless. She rose early and did the work 
herself. To this latter fact Mrs. Saltsby, the 
wife of the expressman, could testify. She 
had had her suspicions of her neighbor’s economy 
and, spurred by inquisitiveness, had risen one 
morning very early — risen not only at “the 
sound of the bird,” but also at the sound of a 
lawn-mower, and had peered through half-closed 
blinds, and thereby been an interested witness 
of Mrs. Rossman’s matutinal labors. 

“Eh! To think of the loikes av her a-settin’ 
hersilf above me, when she can’t afford to give 
a boy a quarther to mow down the grass!” had 
been Mrs. Saltsby’s comment as she trailed 
away like a calico aurora. 

The truth was Mrs. Rossman was trying to 
save her quarters. There were scores of avenues 
down which they might roll their silvery discs! 
There was a little white tombstone to be placed 
at the head of baby Lois’s grave; there was the 
kitchen to paper and the veranda floor to paint. 
Then there were the wood and coal to buy for 
the winter, besides many other things. Also, 
for a woman of Mrs. Rossman’s tastes, books, 
magazines and such things were a necessity; 


ON CHRISTMAS EVE 


15 


for the brain must have food as well as the 
body. In her lonely life, books were as true 
friends, stimulating, sympathetic; but I must 
say, and say pit5dngly, the leaves of the Book 
of books she seldom turned. Though she had 
heard of the words, “Love thy neighbor as 
thyself,” the beautiful gracious meaning was 
as naught to her. She was like too many of 
us; she viewed society only in a one-sided way, 
and had a contempt for it accordingly. The 
people with whom we are to come in contact 
are merely the means to our own selfish ends. 
We want to get something from them — social 
recognition, the pleasure of hospitality, money, 
the stimulus of pleasant companionship; if they 
can give us nothing, why then they are only 
great bores! We are prone to forget the other 
side, the nobler one, that we may give out 
instead of receive, which is truly “ more blessed. ” 
But Mrs. Rossman’s ambition had never 
extended in this direction. Coldly civil, she 
held herself proudly aloof from her neighbors. 
“ They are all the kind who run in at your back 
door, gingham aprons on, at aU hours of the 
day; they’ll want to borrow this or borrow that, 
and they’ll bore you with gossip of all kinds. 


16 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


And even if you listen and make no comment 
they’ll be inventive enough, after they depart, 
to relate a lot of things you are supposed to 
have said, and then, the first thing you know, 
you’ll be mixed up in some petty neighborhood 
squabble! No; let them go their way and I’ll 
go mine!” quoth Mrs. Rossman, with a little 
supercilious glance at the cottage nearest her. 

Being of this mind she was not a little puzzled, 
as well as annoyed, on drawing near her cottage, 
on this particular occasion, to perceive that for 
the time being it was apparently the center of 
observation; subjected, in short, to the concen- 
trated glances of all around her. The little 
tailor, who had been brushing off a navy-blue 
ulster and had come out to hang it on the line, 
was staring with all the power of his horn- 
rimmed spectacles across the road. Miss 
Spooler, in her eagerness to look, had knocked 
off a flower-pot as well as her pet kitten from 
the window-sill. Mrs. Barney and Mrs. Cooney, 
who in their respective yards were taking in 
their respective weekly washing, stood trans- 
fixed, with clothespins in their mouths. As 
for Mrs. Saltsby, who had been just over to give 
a belated order to the grocer’s boy, Mrs. Saltsby 


ON CHRISTMAS EVE 


17 


had even ventured to the end of Mrs. Rossman’s 
sidewalk, and, with her apron thrown over her 
head to keep out the chill of the keen, wintry air, 
and with one hand holding high the tail of 
a much-bedraggled and buttonless watteau- 
wrapper, keeping it from an adjacent snow-bank, 
was gazing with her mouth of generous propor- 
tions all agape, while she ejaculated rhythmically, 
“Well I never! Did you ever!” 

Possibly Mrs. Rossman herself felt somewhat 
like echoing these exclamations as she drew 
nearer. “What can be the matter with my 
house?” she murmured, much puzzled. “Is 
it a fire, or has the cat tipped over the pail of 
milk the milkman was to leave? Everybody 
on the street seems to be staring at my front 
veranda!” 

When she came in sight of the latter she, too, 
stared, for there on the upper step was a bundle 
— a big, fantastically-shaped bundle done up 
in faded blue denim and all tied in a doughty 
knot. And close beside the big bundle sat a 
little bundle, and this one was not quite so 
stationary! It moved and stirred restlessly, 
yawned, stamped its feet, as if from cold, and 
coughed huskily. 


18 


THE COMING OF CAHOLINE 


Yes, it was a child — a queer little creature 
in shabby cloak and hood! A little girl of 
five or six years, and as Mrs. Rossman drew 
near she beheld a wan, wistful little face, a pair 
of large eager brown eyes, a tangle of dark, 
silky curls, a wondrously luminous smile; while 
a small, piping voice rang out in tones of great 
relief; “You’re Mrs. Rossman, aren’t you? 
I’ve asked so many ladies on the street, and 
they said they weren’t! But you are she, I’m 
sure. I am Caroline, Mrs. Rossman, and I’ve 
come to stay with you!’’ 


CHAPTER II. 


A NEW HOME. 

HE little voice did not lack 
sweetness, though there was 
enough of the usual childish 
shrillness in it to have a 
carrying quality and to reach 
the ears of Mrs. Saltsby, and 
though for the past fortnight 
she had not been on speaking terms with Miss 
Spooler owing to a report that the latter had 
called her a “dowdy,” she swept away her 
resentment most magnanimously, and pattered 
over to her late critic to discuss the strange 
arrival and marked peculiarities of Mrs. Ross- 
man’s small visitor. 

“ Some one that’s come to spend Christmas, 
most likely! According to the young one’s 
looks, Mrs. Rossman’s relations can’t be so 
high-falutin’ as she’d like to have folks think!” 

Whereupon Miss Spooler (who had never been 
called upon to do any sewing for Mrs. Rossman!) 

19 



20 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


gave her head a scornful toss and remarked 
that ^^she sh’d think as much!” Then the 
tongues of the two women, as if to make up 
for the time lost in the fortnight’s estrangement, 
began to wag at a most astonishing rate, while 
their eyes lost not a single detail of what was 
going on across the road. 

Meanwhile, having recovered her self-pos- 
session in some degree, Mrs. Rossman was 
firing a whole volley of questions at her small 
visitor. ^^Who are you, did you say? Where 
did you come from? Who sent you here? 
What do you want? How did you know my 
name and where I lived?” 

All the innocent glee fled from the child’s 
face. In its stead came a sober, perturbed look. 
Evidently she was disappointed; she had an- 
ticipated a more cordial welcome ! This slender, 
pale-faced woman attired in somber black 
gown, carrying herself rather haughtily, and with 
a certain cold sternness in her countenance, 
was a different person from what she had ex- 
pected to see. 

The child looked down, much abashed. Her 
hands — they were mittenless and so small, 
thin and purple with cold that they looked 


A NEW HOME 


21 


like bird claws — picked nervously at the folds 
of her faded frock. “My name is Caroline,” 
she repeated, and her lips quivered as they 
formed the words. “There is no other part 
to it that I have ever heard of. I come from 
a good many places — that is, we have moved 
around so often. The last place was New 
York. Nobody sent me here; it was Mag who 
brought me; she didn’t say why. I couldn’t 
talk to her much because she had been taking 
some stuff out of her black bottle, and when 
she does that she is cross and slaps me. Some- 
times, though, the drink makes her sleepy. 
She slept almost all the while on the cars. But 
she was wide awake when she left me here, and 
she was pleasanter than usual, only she was 
in a hurry to get away, and she told me to ask 
her no questions. She said that I must sit 
right here until you came. I’m sorry, ma’am,” 
very timidly, with a pleading upward glance. 
“I’m sorry if there has been a mistake and I 
ain’t the little girl you’ve been expecting! 
I’m sure I hoped it was all right. It’s a nice 
place here” — gazing admiringly at the clear 
windows draped with the freshly-ironed white 
muslin curtains against which sprays of dark 


22 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


green ivy and blossoming geraniums might be 
seen, and between which stood a mottled brown 
jar containing the pale-green leaves and tall 
spikes of white-petaled golden-hearted Chinese 
lilies. 

^'It^s very nice here/’ the child repeated. 
^^But” — this last slowly — ^^but I’ll go away 
if you don’t want me, only” — hesitating still 
more and swallowing hard to keep back a sob — 
‘^only, you see, ma’am — well, oh, where can 
I go?” — and this time the sob could not be 
choked back. 

Mrs. Rossman glanced around nervously. 
Mrs. Saltsby and Miss Spooler were still across 
the road staring fixedly at her and her visitor; 
the little tailor had not finished fumbling with 
the ulster, nor had Mrs. Barney and Mrs. Cooney 
yet filled their clothes baskets. 

^^No, you are not the little girl I expected,” 
Mrs. Rossman began, hurriedly. wasn’t 
expecting anybody. There has been some 
dreadful mistake. But — well, we must manage 
to find out what it is and — we can’t stay out 
here in the cold. You are nearly frozen 
already!” with a touch of pity as she noted 
the blue, pinched look on the child’s face. 


A NEW HOME 


23 


“Oh, you mustn’t stay out here. Come in 
and we’ll talk this matter over where it is warm 
and comfortable — where everybody isn’t staring 
at us,” with a backward glance of scorn at 
the curious ones across the street. Hurrying 
the child before her as one drives a stray little 
chick into its coop, she unlocked her front door 
and the two entered the tiny hall and passed 
into the cosy sitting-room. Caroline dropped 
timidly into the first seat she came to. It was 
a little cricket cushioned in soft green plush, 
like moss. 

Mrs. Rossman’s heart felt a sudden pang. 

“ What possessed the child to take that seat?” 
she exclaimed to herself. For the cricket had 
been the favorite seat of little Lois, and the 
mother had forborne to use it even as a footrest 
since the death of her little daughter. She 
drew forth a rocking-chair, then pushed it back. 
Why should she disturb the child — she looked 
so small, so cold and tired, and the cricket was 
in the warm cosy corner. 

Caroline was feeling the genial influence; she 
was smiling a little, and the warmth was beat- 
ing back the wan blue look on her face. She 
spread her two small hands in front of the 


24 THE COMING OF CAROLINE 

glowing mica doors of the little parlor-stove, 
twisting and bending the fingers in a childish 
way, while her eyes wandered around the room 
in pleased surprise. ^^Nice place — nice place!” 
she crooned softly to herself. 

It was not a grandly furnished room, but it 
bore the impress of taste and refinement. 
There was neat matting on the floor, brightened 
by a rug or two, and a strip of moss-green carpet. 
The paper on the wall was buff with a hint of 
pink in it; it caught the sun and filled the room 
with a warm light. There was a couch in the 
corner with apple-green cover and ruffled 
pillows of the same, together with one of creamy 
linen embroidered with wild roses. There 
were a few good pictures on the wall; a little 
etching of a woodland scene; a delicate water- 
color or two, for the mistress had a pretty skill 
with the pencil and brush — a couple of steel 
engravings presenting the faces of some of the 
earth’s great ones, and, beside these, the sweet 
benignity of the Sistine Madonna, 

Caroline’s big brown eyes wandered over all 
the pictures but came back again and again to 
the Madonna, Then they turned in a puzzled 
way toward the woman she claimed as hostess. 


25 


A NEW HOME 

" She looks like you,” the little girl began, shyly, 
pointing her small finger at the Madonna. 
“She looks like you, not quite. There’s some- 
thing different!” 

She spoke very deliberately and thought- 
fully. 

Mrs. Rossman sat dumbfounded. What a 
strange child this was! Unexpected, uninvited, 
unwelcomed, she had come like some queer 
little elf or fay. Those great brown eyes seemed 
the eyes of a judge, and the musical treble voice 
sounded as solemn as though pronouncing a 
sentence. The tiny presence seemed to possess 
a spell, a subtle influence strangely out of 
keeping with the small stature and general 
shabbiness. Mrs. Rossman felt very uncom- 
fortable. She strove to arouse herself by 
returning again to her questioning. 

“My dear,” she said, not unkindly, “pray 
tell me more about yourself. Who is this 
Mag, as you call her, anyway?” 

“ I lived with Mag. As I said, we didn’t stay 
in any place very long. Mag sewed gloves 
in a factory. When we were in New York she 
was a lady — a saleslady in a store!” with an 
impressive air. “We had a little room up. 


26 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


oh, ever so many flights of stairs. It made you 
puff to go up there, but when you got there 
the sky seemed so near that you could almost 
touch it. Mag didn^t drink quite so much, 
and she was pretty kind to me; I think the 
Captain coaxed her to be.’’ 

Was the Captain her husband?” 

Caroline laughed merrily. 

^^Oh! no. They weren’t related, and the 
Captain was a lady, you know! She lived on 
the flight just — below us.” 

Now Mrs. Rossman had never known a lady 
captain and she said so. 

Whereupon Caroline, with an air of impor- 
tance, declared that she had been acquainted 
with several, but none so nice as the one men- 
tioned. 

^^It was she who coaxed Mag to be kinder 
to me. She had a long, long talk with Mag a 
few days before we went away, and Mag was 
real sober. She cried a httle, Mag did, when 
she was doing up my clothes.” Here Caroline 
touched the big blue bundle she had lugged 
in from the veranda. 

What is your last name, child?” Mrs. Ross- 
man inquired. 


A NEW HOME 


27 


don^t know. Mag’s was Smith. Some- 
times folks called me the ^ Smith young one/ 
but I wasn’t Mag’s daughter.” 

Mrs. Rossman rose from her chair and paced 
the room nervously, the folds of her black 
gown trailing behind her. Her step had lost 
its languid air. Little Caroline sat on the green 
cricket, and with a low, restful sigh again held 
her hands out toward the glow, chuckling 
comfortably to herself as her fingertips grew 
warm and rosy. 

^^What is to be done with this free and easy 
little midget — this waif from nowhere?” Mrs. 
Rossman queried to herself. Her mind grew 
hazy with thoughts of policemen, station-houses, 
detective bureaus and orphan asylums. 

declare I wonH be imposed upon in this 
way!” she said with a sparkle in her eye. ^H’ll 
go right out and put the case in the hands of the 
proper authorities.” 

She glanced out of the window. The sun- 
rays shining in now were pale and wan ; the after- 
noon was near its close; the air was gray with 
shadows; snowflakes were circling down, and 
there was a great bank of clouds rising in the 
northwest; a mighty snowstorm was weaving 


28 


THE COMING OF CAllOLINE 


white garments for the coming Christmas day. 
It was colder, too, for frost-ferns were growing 
on the window-panes, and the wind was begin- 
ning to howl around the chimney. 

^^Well,’^ and Mrs. Rossman^s tone was fal- 
tering, can’t have the neighbors say that I 
was so cruel as to turn a mere child out at 
night and in a storm like this!” 

Her face wore a rueful smile as she turned 
to Caroline, who met it with a calm, trustful 
countenance and the words, ^^Have you been 
thinking what to do with me, ma’am? Has 
God told you? The Captain used to say that 
when you’re bothered, to just ask him! She 
said I shouldn’t be worried, and that there 
was a verse in the Bible about 4f thy father 
and mother forsake thee,’ then the Lord would 
care for me.” 

Mrs. Rossman’s face hardened suddenly. 
Was this child playing a part? Had she been 
trained to speak her piece?” Was she a 
shrewd little impostor, a tiny wolf in lambkin’s 
clothing? 

The woman looked keenly and critically at 
her guest. 

Ah! no. There seemed nothing of duplicity, 







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A NEW HOME 


29 


nothing of calculating about the little figure 
sitting there so patiently, with small hands 
patting together softly in the genial warmth. 
The ruddy gleam from the fire touched the 
dark curls with chestnut tints and made the 
wan cheeks glow rose-red; it brought out the 
shabbiness of the clothing, the sharp outlines 
of the small figure which ought to have been 
rounded instead with childish plumpness. No, 
this little Caroline was too tiny — too innocent 
looking — to be a conscious factor in any pre- 
meditated fraud. She was one who had been 
sinned against, doubtless, but she was not a 
sinner, save in the sense that we all are. 

Yet an uncomfortable feeling of sudden 
responsibility stole over Mrs. Rossman. She 
resented it, shrugging her shoulders impatient- 
ly. Why should there be this interruption — 
this invasion on her own quiet life, her seclusion, 
her rightful time of mourning? But she would 
shuffle off the burden. Public charity had 
provided homes for such waifs. So she would — 

But just then there came a louder shriek 
of the wind, and its invisible fingers dashed 
crystals of snow against the window pane; the 
street outside was all awhirl with its powdery 


30 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


white atoms. It was storming — it was late! 
She turned in sudden resolution, and going to the 
little figure sitting now in a somewhat dejected 
attitude on the green cricket, she put her arms 
around the child’s body and drew it close to 
her. 

^^You shall stay here with me for to-night — 
at least. It is dark and cold, and” — she 
paused abruptly, a great wave of emotion 
sweeping over her at the touch of a little form 
clasped again in her long empty arms 1 

Caroline looked up with eyes like stars, then 
laid her head wearily on the lady’s shoulder, 
and heaved a blissful sigh. 

^^I’m glad God told you to let me stay here 
in this very, very nice place!” 

A nice place indeed! Mrs. Rossman glanced 
ruefully around the room. Not many years 
before she had been accustomed to much finer 
apartments than those of her present humble 
home, and she had rebelled many times because 
she had been deprived of them. Now she 
felt somewhat abashed at her discontent. 
After all, here were the actual necessities — 
shelter, warmth, light, food, clothing. Why, 
how strange! the coming of* this little child 


A NEW HOME 


31 


had really seemed to glorify the humble belong- 
ings. Something new and beautiful had come — 
a sweet echo, as it were, of the little child, her 
own daughter whom God had taken! 

With a lighter heart than she had known 
for months Mrs. Rossman busied herself with 
the evening’s tasks, adding fuel to the fire, lighting 
the lamp, spreading the table for supper, yes! 
bringing out reverently, a little reluctantly 
maybe, a certain dear little high-chair, a blue- 
edged plate and mug, a small knife, fork and 
spoon. But how Caroline enjoyed them! How 
heartily she ate, after a little pause, when she 
folded her small hands and bowed her head 
reverently, explaining, ^^Mag never did, but 
the Captain told me to.” 

Mrs. Rossman was not accustomed to asking 
a blessing; her meals had been taken in silence, 
often seasoned with the salt of tears and much 
bitterness of heart. 

An hour later Caroline, bathed and robed 
in a small white nightgown, lay sleeping cosily 
in the bed in the alcove. Outside, through 
the parted curtains, gleamed the clear wintry 
night. The storm had died away; the long 
street lay in silent whiteness; overhead, in the 


32 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


dark purple sky, the Christmas stars shone 
down right royally. Far away in the town 
the bells were chiming, ^^Joy to the world, 
the Lord has come.” 

Some of that Christmas joy crept into the 
lonely watcher’s heart. Mrs. Rossman felt 
that other feelings were struggling there too, 
but ever growing stronger and more conquering 
was the peace and goodwill that the coming 
of Caroline had awakened. 


CHAPTER III. 

A FRESH INSPIRATION. 

HE echo of the Christmas bells 
had died away; the coming 
of the bright New Year had 
been ushered in. The days 
were short and sharp with 
cold; the nights long, dark, 
and gemmed with the wonder- 
ful stars of midwinter. 

And little Caroline still abode 
at the house of Mrs. Rossman! Ever since that 
Christmas Eve when the latter had watched 
the child lying there asleep like a warm and 
comforted little lamb, there was but seldom a 
thought of orphan asylums or Houses of the 
Good Shepherd. 

True, Mrs. Saltsby, spurred by resistless 
curiosity, had come over uninvited, and, with 
unsolicited commiseration, had said, “A thou- 
sand pities it was that a leddy who was all alone 

33 





34 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


in the worruld wid all she could do to worruk 
an’ arn for hersilf, should be imposed on by 
havin’ a babby lift on the door! It was an 
imposition, shure, and nobody ’d blame her if 
she wouldn’t put up wid it, at all, at all! And 
if Mrs. Rossman was that disposed, she, Mrs. 
Saltsby, would spake to the Riverend Father 
O’Dooley and he would see that the little girl 
would be put in the hands of the Sisters, 
shure, and Mrs. Rossman would have the burden 
taken off, aisy loike, and no thrubble at all, 
at all!” 

Now, to confess the truth, Mrs. Rossman 
was not a pious woman. She took no interest 
whatever in things spiritual ; she was not strong 
in any particular faith. However, she was 
quick to resent Mrs. Saltsby’s officiousness. A 
half-defined plan — a hazy idea which had been 
floating around in her mind for days — suddenly 
stood out clearly. If wavering there had been, 
it must cease ; she would settle the matter once 
for all and let the people know she could manage 
her own affairs. So she turned, looked calmly 
at the expectant Mrs. Saltsby, and quenched 
her fire with the cold water of these words: 
“Thanks for your interest, my good woman, 


A FEESH INSPIRATION 


35 


but I have decided to keep the little girl with 
me — for a time, at least.” 

So Mrs. Saltsby had gone away shaking her 
head dubiously, to remark to Miss Spooler, 
“All the fools ain’t dead yet! To think of 
takin’ another mouth to feed and another body 
to clothe when she herself is as poor as Job’s 
turkey! And there’s no knowing what the 
child’ll turn out to be, shure! Mrs. Rossman 
may be only a-warruming a snake in her brist! 
Howly Saint Pathrick defind us all!” 

Possibly there might be some substance to 
Mrs. Saltsby ’s suggestion. Mrs. Rossman, a 
cool, clear-headed woman, had pondered not 
a little on the great law of heredity. Who were 
Caroline’s parents? Was it not probable that 
they were worthless, improvident people, even 
if not worse? What evil tendencies might she 
not have in her that the years would develop! 
Mrs. Rossman was not yet middle-aged, but 
she had lived long enough to have seen instances 
where adopted children had been total failures, 
bringing untold miseries on their benefactors. 
Besides, if Caroline remained with her it meant 
harder work on her own part, harder work and 
self-denial, for there would be two to provide 


36 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


for instead of one. She would have to face that 
big opponent, the world, and place her worn, 
weary self between its frowns and the little 
creature she had taken into her home. She 
could do this for her own child — ah yes! the 
joy of that! — but would she have patience to 
do it for a stranger? Suppose she should spend 
years of hard work and self-sacrifice, and then 
should come base ingratitude? 

Ingratitude! The word seemed to sting her 
lips as she uttered it, making her shudder. But 
just then there came a soft touch of little hands 
on her gown, and turning, she beheld Caroline, 
who had run in from her play and now stood 
looking at her with shining eyes. 

“ Mammy!” she exclaimed, for she had begun 
to call Mrs. Rossman thus. “Mammy,” shyly, 
“I — I just corned in to kiss you, mammy! — 
— because — because love was a-bubblin’ up in 
my heart!” Mrs. Rossman stooped and caught 
the little figure in her arms. Could black in- 
gratitude ever grow and flourish where love 
— pure simple, disinterested love — ^“bubbled 
up in the heart?” No, she would not worry 
about the future; she would thankfully accept 
the joy of the present. The child was a mys- 


A TRESH INSPIRATION 


37 


terious but beautiful gift to her, coming she 
knew not how. Like many others, Mrs. Ross- 
man had only a vague, far-away conception of 
the Almighty; to her the Bible was a bit of 
quaint history — a curiosity of literature. But 
if there was a Supreme Being who planned for 
weak human hearts — well, who knew but what 
he had something to do with the coming of 
Caroline! 

But, as days passed by, there came, side by 
side with the growing love for the child, a 
shadowy fear based on her uncertain tenure 
of the little one. Suppose that the woman 
called “Mag” should walk in upon her some 
day and claim Caroline? Or maybe the “Cap- 
tain” might come! Of the latter she had not 
so much dread, because, according to Caroline’s 
report, the “Captain” was gentle and kind, 
and would no doubt be reasonable. Besides 
— this last fact was given one day when the 
little girl was in an unusually communicative 
mood — besides, as she said, “the Captain 
might have gone to heaven!” Caroline re- 
membered that the Captain had been taken 
away from the tenement house, “ her face, oh, 
so white!” and with a spot like a red, red rose 


38 


THE COMING Ol' CAROLINE 


on each cheek. She was sick — very sick, and 
they were going to take her to the hospital. 
Even Mag had cried when she said that she 
^spected the Captain was about done for!^^ 
Now Mrs. Rossman had made many inquiries 
in regard to this mysterious Mag, the woman 
who had brought Caroline, but little information 
had been obtained. The holiday time had been 
one of confusion; many strangers had been 
coming and going; Mag had doubtless come on 
the train and returned in it; her presence had 
been noticed by but few of the residents on 
Stubbs’ Extension. Tim Murphy, the man 
at the bakery on the corner, had seen a woman 
answering to her description; she had come into 
his place to buy some buns for herself and the 
child. Miss Spooler, too, had observed her, 
and her report tallied with Tim’s. “Yes, a 
tall, black-eyed woman with rather a bold 
face. Didn’t look like a lady, though she was 
quiet enough as far as talking went ; seemed in 
a hurry to get away; wore a brown dress, a 
navy-blue jacket, and a felt hat with a red 
feather and a scarlet ribbon bow on it. No, she 
wan’t nobody that I ever seen before, though 
I’m sure I’d know her again if she was to come 


A FRESH INSPIRATION 


39 


around/’ Everybody on Stubbs’ Extension 
was eagerly on the look-out for the return of 
this mysterious stranger. But as the days and 
weeks passed and no Mag appeared, Mrs. 
Rossman’s heart grew easier. Caroline was 
to remain with her; the dear little presence 
was to brighten her home not only tempo- 
rarily, but always! 

^^She is my inspiration!” Mrs. Rossman 
declared. 

Mammy,” said the little girl one day, as 
she cuddled close in the loving arms, mammy, 
you tell me the most beautiful stories when 
you put me to bed at night; I just love to hear 
you. You see, I haven’t any brothers or sisters 
and the children you tell me about in the stories 
seem just like brothers and sisters. And you 
know, mammy, I have been thinking that other 
girls besides me would like to hear the stories. 
Why can’t you write the stories and have them 
put in papers and magazines? Don’t you think 
there would be a printer man who would be 
glad to put them in, mammy?” 

^^I’m sure I don’t know, childie,” Mrs. Ross- 
man replied in an absent-minded way. She 
was pondering over Caroline’s suggestion. 


40 


THE COMHSTG OF CAROLINE 


Write stories? Could she? It would do no 
harm to try — there was always a waste-basket! 
But there might be some chance of success. 
In her girlhood days fond friends had prophe- 
sied great things from her pen. However, 
when wealth and ease had been her portion, 
her time had been occupied with social duties. 
Poverty and affliction had brought depression 
of spirits and lack of interest in all things. 
It was not until recently, when she had this 
happy, appreciative auditor, that the fairy 
gift of story-telling had seemed to come back 
to her. Would the editor and the public be 
as kindly a critic as little Caroline? Could 
she win their ear at all? 

After much deliberation and many qualms 
she made the attempt. She resolutely laid 
aside the Battenburg bureau cover a lady in the 
city had engaged her to make as a wedding 
gift for a remote cousin, and betook herself, 
instead, to pen, ink and paper, and the fabrica- 
tion of a little tale. 

Caroline fancied herself of great assistance! 
She sat on the green cricket and listened to the 
reading of paragraph after paragraph, and was 
most frank in her criticism of the same. She 


A FRESH Inspiration 


41 


named the principal characters ; her small 
fingers placed the manuscript in its envelope; 
her little red tongue moistened the requisite 
stamp, and her willing feet trotted down to 
the post office to mail the same. 

Then both the collaborators betook themselves 
to the harder task of patient waiting. A week, 
a fortnight, a month and more passed by, and 
then, to Mrs. Rossman’s surprise, for she had 
given up what little hope she had, there came 
a letter containing a pale blue slip of paper. 
Caroline was standing by her knee looking 
up wistfully and disappointedly as the envelope 
was opened. 

“Oh, not a dollar in it! Not even a teenty- 
tawnty little silver dime!” she exclaimed with 
a little suggestion of a sob in her tone. “Don’t 
you feel rather sorryful, mammy? Why, you 
don’t seem to! Your eyes shine!” 

“Good reason they have to shine, Caroline!” 
was Mrs. Rossman’s gay reply. “Just look 
here, dear,” and she waved the blue slip 
over her head like a tiny paper flag. “This 
is just the same as money, dear! It is five 
dollars. Just think — five dollars!” 

Five dollars! An insignificant sum indeed 


42 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


to many a rich, indolent woman of fashion, 
who, oblivious to the fact that hundreds of 
little children are hungry, homeless, lacking 
love and care, would spend ten times that sum 
to gratify some trivial desire. But to this 
woman, who yearned to do her best for the 
little waif who had come to her door, the sum 
meant a great deal. Caroline, too, appre- 
ciated that fact. She stroked the blue paper 
lovingly. 

^^Itdl buy a ton of coal, mammy she said, 
solemnly. 

^^Yes, or get you a nice little eiderdown 
cloak, a tippet and a wee muff, with enough 
left over, maybe, to buy the pretty red sled 
marked ^ Reindeer^ that you saw in the store 
yesterday.^' 

But poverty had taught Caroline to be wise 
and provident beyond her years. She shook 
her head gravely. 

don’t know about that, mammy! The 
winter is almost gone. The snowdrifts are 
fast melting away, and yesterday I heard Mrs. 
Saltsby singing ^St. Patrick’s day in th’ mar- 
nin’!’ and she said it would soon be here, March 
seventeenth, and then there ’d be the ^wearin’ 


A FRESH INSPIRATION 


43 


of the green’! February’s almost gone. But 
maybe, maybe there’ll be a few more snow- 
storms, enough for me to use a sled — But” — 
with a sudden burst of enthusiasm — “there 
is another thing I want to get, mammy! It’s 
for yourself!” 

“Indeed!” 

“Yes! I’ll tell you!” Here Caroline stood 
up on tiptoe, and, placing her lips close to Mrs. 
Rossman’s ear, whispered in deep, sepulchral 
tones, “It’s a — it’s a — a bonnet. Not a dingy 
black one like that you’ve already got, but a 
soft, pretty gray one with a tiny fluffy white 
feather on it and some lovely velvety violets 
tucked here and there! Won’t that be fine, 
dearie mammy?” 

Mrs. Rossman laughed. 

“Why are you so ambitious for me, childie?” 

“Well,” here Caroline settled back in the 
chair with an important air, “well, you see, if 
you have a bonnet you can go to church. We 
haven’t been once since I’ve been here. Mrs. 
Saltsby wanted me to go to mass, but I thanked 
her and said ‘No, ma’am.’ I’ve wanted to 
go to church with you, mammy, oh, ever so 
many times! Every Sunday morning when I 


44 


THE COMINC OI^ CAROLINE 


hear the bells ringing, they seem to say, Come, 
Caroline! Come, Caroline! And there’s been 
a big lump in my throat ’cause I couldn’t come! 
I’ve spoken about your going, mammy, but 
you said you couldn’t, because you hadn’t anj^ 
nice bonnet. Now /Ms’ll get you one!” and 
Caroline patted the blue check. 

Mrs. Rossman stirred uneasily in her chair. 
Her eyes were not shining now; a gloomy look 
had crept into them. Her tone was a little 
sharp as she replied, You are only a little girl, 
Caroline, and don’t understand everything. 
There was a time when I went to church. I 
had plenty of money then, and folks welcomed 
me, for I could pay a good big subscription. 
But now — well, now we are poor, and poor folks 
find a scanty welcome even at the church door!” 

^^The Captain was always welcome,” was the 
eager rejoinder. went to church with her 
almost every Sunday; that is, when Mag was 
good natured and let me. Oh, everybody was 
glad to see the Captain!” 

Mrs. Rossman nodded carelessly. She had 
learned by this time who the Captain was, and 
what she was! A worthy young woman of 
the lower class, doubtless, wearing the plain. 


A FRESH INSPIRATION 


45 


quaint uniform of the Salvation Army; one 
who, with the zeal of the fanatic, had marched 
to the sound of fife, drum and tambourine, and 
hesitated not at kneeling in the mud and slush 
to pray for scoffing sinners. Ah, yes! A 
“hallelujah lass!” 

“I dare say the church I used to attend 
is not like the service at the Salvation 
Army Barracks, Caroline dear! And you 
know the church nearest to us now is the 
fine, brick one just at the other end of 
the Extension, that has been erected by some 
of the wealthy and aristocratic people who live 
in the select suburbs, on Elm street and the 
Avenue. Oh, St. John’s is not for poor folks, 
such as we are! And,” bitterly, “its minister 
and members have let me alone, so there’s 
nothing for me to do but to let them alone, 
which I shall most certainly do! The minister 
is a stately, dignified gentleman, shepherd over 
a stately, dignified flock. I haven’t heard him 
preach, for he was away the Sunday I went 
to church. I did go once, Caroline, I’ll tell 
you that secret! I did go once, just after my 
little girl died, but I never wanted to go again! 
In all the proud, richly-dressed throng there 


46 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


didn’t seem to be one to give me a hand- 
clasp.” 

“Maybe you hurried away so soon that you 
didn’t give them a chance,” was Caroline’s wise 
comment. 

“Well, maybe I did hurry away! But see 
here, dear! don’t you worry your head about 
such things!” 

But Caroline did worry; she thought long 
and gravely, and at last came to a decision as 
to what must be done. Accordingly, one day 
in March — it happened to be the seventeenth 
and Mrs. Saltsby was gay vith “wearin’ o’ the 
green” — this day, when the sun was shining 
so brightly that all the sidewalks were bare and 
the drifts on either side fast melting away, the 
crows up on the hillsides were cawing jubilantly, 
and there was a dear, faint touch of spring in 
the air, a small figure might have been seen 
climbing up the gray stone steps of the very 
pretty parsonage where lived the Reverend 
Maurice Leonard, pastor of St. John’s. 

It was Caroline, and she had come to call on 
the minister on a little matter of business! 



IT WAS CAROLINE, AND SHE HAD COME TO CALL ON 

THE MINISTER. 


/ 





CHAPTER IV. 

A MINISTERIAL CALL 

HERE had been a time when 
if an angel had passed up 
and down Stubbs’ Exten- 
sion and looked with clear, 
penetrating eyes into the 
hearts of the dwellers on 
that thoroughfare, he would 
doubtless have seen some that were weak and 
silly, some weak and wicked, others, it is to be 
hoped, kind and forgiving, but possibly he 
would have found none harder nor more in- 
different to the welfare of those around her 
than Mrs. Rossman. 

But the coming of Caroline had changed many 
things! The innocent, childish eyes had pierced 
to the very soul; the touch of the httle hands 
had unlocked the floodgates, and a stream, warm 
and gentle, had gradually begun to spread its 
healing beneflcence over the woman’s whole 

47 



48 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


being, and, through the benign influence of the 
Holy Spirit, was germinating seeds long dor- 
mant — the seeds of kindly interest in others, 
of charity, goodwill, and helpfulness. The 
glances that were directed toward Mrs. 
Saltsby’s and Miss Spooler’s were less fraught 
with contempt; when Mrs. Rossman came face 
to face with these dames there was gracious 
and gentle courtesy instead of coldly averted 
looks, and she began to find beauty hitherto 
unsuspected in the lives about her. 

“ Poor Miss Spooler ! she is working her 
fingers to the bone and blinding her eyes sewing 
until late in the night in order to give support 
and comfort to her bedridden mother. And 
that Mrs. Saltsby, she’s not so bad, after all, 
poor thing! They say she liad to go out to 
work when she was only a little thing not ten 
years old! She never had a chance to go to 
school, or to learn anything, so it’s no wonder 
that in her ignorance she enjoys a bit of gossip. 
But she seems so good and respectful to her 
husband’s father, who must be a great trial to 
her, for he is only an idle drunkard. Then 
she is up night after night with her sister-in law, 
who is dying of consumption.” 


A MINISTERIAL CALL 


49 


Gentle consideration begets gentle consider- 
ation, and Mrs. Saltsby’s opinion was likewise 
undergoing a change. 

“That Mrs. Rossman do be more neighborly 
than I thought her! She used to pass me by 
as if I wasn't more than a pump or a street 
lamp post — and me that has a husband what 
gets forty-foive dollars a month as exprissman 
— yis, an exprissman in one of the ouldest con- 
sarns in the counthry, for doesn’t it say so on 
all thim red labels, shure? It’s mesilf that can 
howld as high a head as anybody on Stubbs’ 
Extinsion! But now Mrs. Rossman passes the 
toime of day as well as the nixt one. And it 
was only last Friday that she was so obligin’ as 
to sind over the nicest recate for petaty salad 
that yez ever laid eyes on or the mouth of 
yez ever tasted! Well, it’s the cornin’ of 
that little fairy, Caroline, that’s been kind of 
warrumin’ to her, I do be a-thinkin’!” 

Now, this being the comfortable and amicable 
state of affairs between herself and the neighbors, 
it was not surprising that when an event of dire 
importance took place in the home of the spouse 
of the “ exprissman,” that she took the liberty of 
appealing for help to Mrs. Rossman, whom she 


50 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


felt instinctively to be a person of superior 
intelligence. 

Mammy! 0, mammy 1’^ Caroline ran in tear- 
fully one afternoon. ^^Mrs. Saltsby^s Tommy 
has upset the tea-kettle over the baby! And 
can you come over right away, she says!^^ 

Mrs. Rossman promptly laid down her pen. 
She was vTiting another little story, and plot 
and characters were just at an exciting junc- 
ture, so that she had an author’s reluctance to 
leave them — but then! a poor scalded baby! 
Did not that appeal to her far more than any 
pen-and-ink individual? 

So she hurried out of the back door and across 
the yard, Caroline close at her heels. 

As was to be expected, of course, they found 
the Saltsby household in an uproar. Mrs. 
Saltsby, with the strides of an infuriated Amazon 
was walking up and down the kitchen floor, 
calling on all the saints in the calendar, with the 
shrieking baby clasped tightly in her arms, 
regardless of the fact that its little body was 
still clothed in the steaming garments. A 
circle of open-mouthed children were snuffling 
sympathetically, and, above all, dodging here 
and there, like little boats hurrying to get out 


A MINISTERIAL CALL 


51 


of the way, as their mother, like a stately 
battle-ship sailed passed them. Tommy, the 
culprit, with salty tears making pinky-white 
channels down his begrimed cheeks, had crawled 
in silent misery under the table and was giving 
nervous pulls at the fringe of the turkey-red 
spread, thereby inviting a disastrous avalanche 
of gilt-edged cups and saucers — his mother ^s 
pride, premiums donated by an enterprising 
tea agent. 

Into this scene of confusion Mrs. Rossman 
came, bringing the quieting influence of a re- 
assuring, helpful presence. She took the baby 
from its distracted mother ^s arms; she care- 
fully removed the hot wet garments, cutting 
off the faded tattered sleeve in order to spare 
the blistered arm more pain; then a soothing 
lotion was put on, with a soft, cooling linen 
cloth she had brought from home, and by the 
time the doctor arrived — the ^^exprissman’^ 
having gone for him post haste as soon as the 
mishap occurred — the Saltsby household had 
nearly quieted down to its normal condition, and 
the luckless Tommy had ventured to emerge 
from his turkey-red retreat. 

Then Mrs. Rossman, somewhat bedabbled 


52 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


with olive oil and limewater, with a strong scent 
of carbolic acid lingering around her apron, 
started homeward, accompanied by a volley of 
grateful ejaculations from the relieved mother 
and a terse compliment from the attending 
physician. 

^^It’s nothing great that I have done, I'm 
sure," Mrs. Rossman said to herself. ^‘No 
bit of heroism to make a fuss over! But my 
afternoon for writing is spoiled — that's my 
only regret — and I suppose it will be hard to 
take up the thread of my story. And, dear 
me, how mussed and greasy I am! But, some- 
how, I do feel so happy about helping that poor 
baby! How I pitied it as it writhed in pain 
with that ugly scald on its dear, fat little arms! 
No wonder that Caroline's sympathy was so 
aroused that she, too, began to cry. I was wise 
to send her home. I do hope — why — !" in 
sudden surprise as she neared her house — 
^^with whom is she talking? Who can be 
here?" 

As she stood in the entry way, listening to 
a strange, but very musical, masculine voice 
mingling with Caroline's sweet, childish treble, 
the sitting-room door was flung open widely 


A MINISTERIAL CALL 


53 


and Caroline herself aopeared, her face still 
stained with sj^pathetic tears because of the 
scalded Saltsby, but her eyes joyous with proud 
satisfaction over something very different. 

“Oh, mammy! Come right in! WeVe been 
waiting for you so long! Is the baby better? 
I would have come over, but you told me to 
stay here; I have been doing my best to enter- 
tain Mr. Leonard, so he wouldn^t go before you 
came. This is Mr. Leonard, mammy, the min- 
ister, you know.’^ 

Mrs. Rossman never forgot that one awful 
moment! There she stood, hair disheveled, 
neck ribbon awry from the poor baby’s frantic 
clutches; her faded blue apron as wet as a 
washerwoman’s, its bib greasy with oil and 
smelling like a dentist’s office. Before her 
stood the pastor of St. John’s — dignified, min- 
isterial, in his broadcloth and spotless linen! 
A handsome man, withal, barely middle-aged, 
with hazel eyes, having a decided merry twinkle 
in them under the broad, white, scholarly 
brow; a mouth strong, yet tender ; a chin massive 
and firm with character — and over all the 
subtle aristocracy of birth, the stamp of wealth 
and culture. 


54 


THE COMING OP CAROLINE 


Oh, why did he come here? What possessed 
him! How like a fright I must look!’^ These 
questions and exclamations were tumbling over 
each other in poor Mrs. Rossman’s brain as she 
felt the awful flood of shame and chagrin 
overwhelm her. 

If she had only known that to the minister 
she did not look like a fright at all! 

Her delicate face was flushed from excite- 
ment, but it also wore the tender pity of true 
womanhood stirred at the sight of a little chikTs 
woe. The bright chestnut hair curled in soft 
confusion over the white forehead; the dark 
eyes had shy half-appealing glances in them; 
the sensitive lips were quivering like a frightened 
child's. But pride and early good breeding 
came to Mrs. Rossman's rescue. She was a 
lady, in spite of the soiled apron. She bowed 
with graceful ease. 

“Pray be seated, Mr. Leonard. I am sorry 
that you had to wait for me. May I trespass 
on your good nature still further, by asking 
for a minute's space of time in which to make 
myself a little more presentable?" 

But here Caroline drew her into the sitting- 
room, gave soft, smoothing pats on the tumbled 


A MINISTERIAL CALL 


65 


hair, deftly drew off the soiled apron, and mean- 
while Mr. Leonard, in tones of friendly ease and 
interest, was asking about the unfortunate young 
Saltsby, so that almost before Mrs. Rossman 
knew it the thick ice of reserve was broken, 
embarrassment was a thing of the past, and she 
found herself chatting familiarly with a creature 
toward whom she had always manifested con- 
siderable dislike — a real minister. 

And then Caroline, conscious of having done 
her part most nobly, ran out to play, saying to 
herself gleefully: ^^My! I guess they 11 be 
really truh^ friends!’^ Perhaps her exit passed 
unnoticed, for certainly Mrs. Rossman and her 
caller were busily engaged in most pleasant 
conversation. It was a long time since the 
lady had met with, a person of such culture and 
congenial tastes, an appreciative listener and 
a brilliant conversationalist. Moreover, Mr. 
Leonard had within him a certain power of 
magnetism, an earnest, persuasive personality; 
not the ordinary kind, meaning merely a pleasing 
manner, a powerful intellect, the ability to 
read people and so govern them — it was some- 
thing more and finer — it was the strong spiritu- 
ality of the man; the endowment of the spirit 


56 


THE COMING OF CAROLINA 


of him, who lifted up, shall draw all men unto 
him. Thus, though the half-hour ^s talk was 
on things temporal — books, nature, current 
events — there was underlying it an earnestness, 
a broadness of vision and thought, a prophecy 
of something even better ready to come forth; 
and when Mr. Leonard rose as if to take his 
departure his hostess experienced a feeling of 
genuine regret. 

She had forgotten her simple work dress, her 
plainly furnished room, or rather perhaps she 
and all her belongings had been brightened 
by the stimulating interchange of high 
thoughts. 

So she said shyly, but sincerely, thank 
you, Mr. Leonard, for your call; it has brought 
a bit of pleasure into my lonely life.’^ 

Her visitor stood before her — tall, stately, 
yet friendly and benignant. 

Your life is lonely?^’ came the sympathetic 
interrogation. 

'^Yes! Inexpressibly lonely — until recently. 
Since Caroline has come things have seemed 
brighter. 

A sweet, winsome look overspread Mrs. 
Rossman’s face as her glance involuntarily 


A MINlSTERfAL CALl 


57 

sought the window from which she could see 
the little girl playing. 

The minister smiled. It was a curious little 
smile that quivered about his strong, yet gentle 
mouth. He twirled his hat in his hands rather 
boyishly. Then suddenly he resumed his seat 
and looked keenly at Mrs. Rossman with his frank 
merry eyes. 

“So little Caroline has given a stimulus to 
your life?” he said, slowly. “Suppose I tell 
you that she has given one to mine! I was 
rather uncertain whether I should tell you the 
story when I came here. But I do not hesitate 
now — because — because I feel that I have the 
honor of knowing you so much better than 
when I first entered this room. So, with your 
permission I will tell you how Caroline came 
into my life. 

“It happened only a few days ago. I am, 
as you know, pastor of St. John’s; it is a large 
congregation, an important charge, that is, in 
the eyes of the world, perhaps, for my people are 
all wealthy and aristocratic. I must confess — ” 
here Mr. Leonard’s tone was one of honest 
humility — “ I must confess that there have been 
times when I have been very complacent! 


58 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


^^But one morning last week there came a 
ring at my door bell, and my maid ushered in 
a wee lassie. It was your Caroline — 

My Caroline, Mrs. Rossman interrupted, 
with a puzzled laugh. 

^^Yes. She introduced herself very pohtely 
and then launched bravely into her purpose of 
coming. I have not the time, nor have I the 
ability to repeat what she said word for word 
— nor the ingenuous way in which she said it! 
The simplest things in the simplest way — yet 
she handled truths as strong and lasting as 
granite, as sharp as a Damascus blade! I felt’^ 
— here the minister's voice faltered — felt 
that her innocent eyes were the eyes of a judge — 
that I and my congregation were arraigned 
before a solemn bar. Yet she was not rude 
or unkind; she had planned no dramatic effect. 
Her exquisite frankness and gentleness were 
all-powerful. She asked me why poor folks 
were not welcomed at my church. If there 
was no place for them there, did I know of any 
other church where they might come, ^a real 
Jesus church,’ she said. And was there any 
^real Jesus minister,’ who would preach gently 
and helpfully to poor folks; who would come 


A MINISTERIAL CALL 


59 


into their homes and be kind to them and teach 
them to know and to love God. For, she 
said” — here Mr. Leonard’s eyes rested keenly 
on the flushed interested face before him — 
— “she knew 'a lady — the sweetest loveliest 
lady’ — I am giving her own words now — 'who 
wasn’t quite friendly with the dear God! And 
to be friendly with God meant to be happy. 
She wanted this lady to be happy; she wanted 
her to go to church and believe and love the 
things the Captain did, and she told me, of 
course, about the Captain. But she wanted 
the lady to go to a 'real Jesus church,’ where 
folks would be kind to her and where the 
minister would preach like the dear Jesus did 
when he was walking along the seaside and 
in the pleasant groves, healing people, com- 
forting them because he loved them so — he 
loved them so!” Mr. Leonard paused; his 
voice was not quite steady, and there was a 
mist in his eyes. 

Then he continued earnestly; “As I said, I 
felt myself arraigned! I saw myself in the 
past content to plod along, polishing my ser- 
mons with scholarly zeal to please myself and 
my rich, comfortable, cultured congregation. 


60 


THii Coming op caroliniJ 


I had been thinking more of heads than of 
hearts. I had lacked true evangelistic fire! 
I had been cold — lax — narrow! It made me 
very contrite — very humble. And with this 
feeling there came a great glow of earnestness — 
a great desire to do better; to reach out and 
into the world; to seek and to save; not to be 
content merely because the church officials 
were satisfied with my work, but to have a 
ceaseless hungering for souls. And there has 
come to me a great longing to help others. 
And there has also come to mo a faint conception, 
a beautiful vision, one growing daily more 
strong and clear, of the glorious part the church 
as a whole, pastors, officials, members, may take 
in the regeneration of the world, in the coming 
of Christ’s kingdom. I want to understand 
this more fully; to learn it patiently, practi- 
cally. It is my hope to lead my people to feel 
this way; to arouse them, to lift them above 
the petty things of life; to open unto them 
splendid possibilities. And cannot you come, 
Mrs. Rossman, and work with us? I promise 
you to do my best to make St. John’s what 
little Caroline calls a ‘real Jesus church’!” Mr. 
Leonard’s words had gradually grown more 


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A MINISTERIAL CALL 


61 


earnest and impassioned as he went on, and 
now his whole face seemed to glow with the 
inner light. Somewhat against her will, his 
hearer felt herself thrilled: his evident sincerity 
hushed the words of cold, polite refusal with 
which she had intended to reply to his appeal. 

^^My dear sir,’^ she began, slowly, had 
promised myself that I would never again enter 
a church — that is, one of the so-called fashion- 
able ones, but — perhaps — ’’ hesitatingly, as she 
looked up and met the pure, earnest, Christ- 
like gaze, perhaps,’’ softly, may come 
sometime to your St. John’s. I — I want to 
see if there is such a thing as a ^real Jesus 
church.’” 


CHAPTER V. 


THE AWAKENING AT ST. JOHN^S. 

T St. John’s Church the pews 
had seldom been empty ones. 
Every Sabbath there had been 
congregations goodly in num- 
bers. Goodly too in looks, as 
became so fine an edifice. 
For St. John’s was truly a 
triumph of its architect. Its interior was 
beautiful and impressive, with its dim, religious 
light; the subdued glory of sunbeams sifted 
in through glass of crimson, pearl, amber, 
purple and emerald; there were fine frescoes, 
elaborate carvings of oak and walnut; rich 
carpets were soft to the feet, and overhead 
at nightfall hung glittering branches loaded 
with electric lights like glowing opals. And 
then, to the silent music of design and color, 
came the notes of the grand organ pealing forth 
in rich, triumphant chords, or stealing softly 
through the aisles up to the fretted roof. So 
62 



THE AWAKENING AT ST. JOHN^S 


63 


it was little wonder that at the time of service 
the pews were filled with the rustle of silk and 
satin, the soft warmth of furs, the purple and 
fine linen of those in power. ^^St. John’s had 
the cream of the town,” so it was said. But of 
late, so it was also said, strange things had taken 
place at St. John’s! The same people attended, 
that is, for the most part, but all through the 
large congregation there seemed a strange, new 
influence. Formerly, they had been comfort- 
ably sleepy, or politely attentive as the case 
might be, but now every face was wide awake, 
alert, eager, expectant, listening to words that 
seemed like the trumpet-call of the Captain 
of the Lord of Hosts. 

Awake, awake, daughter of ease! Awake, 
thou that slumherestV' Throughout the town 
and beyond had spread the tidings that there 
was a revival at St. John’s.” 

And it had all come about so quietly, just 
as the rain comes down gently, sweetly after a 
long-continued drought! Mr. Leonard’s ser- 
mons were as classically perfect as before; he 
fashioned in them all the riches of his scholar- 
ship, all the painstaking" of his methodical 
habits, but far more than this, he poured into 


64 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


them, like the precious contents of Mary’s 
alabaster box, which filled the room with its 
fragrance, the power of the Spirit so recently 
given unto him. He had not calculated the 
cost; he had not stopped at the question of 
expediency; he had not dallied with the thought 
that he might offend, might alienate the con- 
servative — he preached Christ, the crucified 
one, the living Christ, the loving Christ, the 
pleading Christ! He revealed to his people 
the Christ-power, the divinity which might be 
added to each life, the broadness of Christian 
living, the supreme, the all-absorbing happiness 
of working in accord with the Master. 

Up from the sordid, idle lives; up from the 
maelstrom of trade and barter, fashion and 
the mockery of social success — up into the 
clear, pure air of love and sacrifice, broad 
sympathies and patient helpfulness! 

There may have been discouragements along 
the way, but Mr. Leonard did not heed them; 
^^he hurried through the lowlands that he 
might breathe the pure air of the hilltops.” 
Success crowned his labors because, never 
doubting the Christ-power back of him, his 
aim was to be what little Caroline quaintly 


THE AWAKENING AT ST. JOHN’S 


65 


called a “Jesus preacher.” So, though there 
had never been many empty pews ad St. John’s, 
it was now difficult to find even a single one 
that was not full. And, 0 marvel! side by 
side with him of the “gold ring and goodly 
apparel,” there sat the poor man in “vile 
raiment.” And hands that were bare and hard 
and horny, or hands clothed in humble cotton 
and wool were taken in the friendl}'’ grasp of 
hands covered by softest kid and silk; both held 
the same hymn book as their respective owners 
sang heartily, “Blest be the tie that hinds.” For 
the Spirit had come down mightily into St. 
John’s, and now, therefore, none were strangers 
and foreigners, but all were fellow citizens with 
the saints and of the household of God. 

One happy evening a slender, dark-robed 
woman slipped shyly into the well-filled room, 
and, listening to the sacred songs and to words 
that were as music, felt herself touched by the 
strange, unseen influence, and held spellbound. 
She was brought face to face with the black 
things which had warped, dwarfed and embit- 
tered her life — unbelief, rebellion, enmity toward 
God — aye, brought face to face with them so 
that she saw them as they were, and paused 


66 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


aghast at what they had made her. Then they 
faded away, driven into the outer darkness by 
the glory of a cross intervening, and the tender 
face of the Christ ! Ah, that was a night of battle 
and of victory. The clouds and mists were rolled 
away and she went on her way rejoicing; went 
back to her humble home to kiss the rosy 
child sleeping there, the waif Caroline, whose 
coming had been as it were the finger touch on 
the latch of a door opening into a broader and 
better life. And this new joy and peace could 
not be confined ; it shed its infiuence all around 
her, and even her neighbors felt themselves 
warmed by the new graciousness which was 
manifested so plainly in her life. 

Little Miss Spooler, in friendly chat with the 
tailor over the garden fence, said tremulously, 
with tears of gratitude in her faded eyes : No; 
it don’t seem as though I could have kept up 
during ma’s long sickness if it hadn’t been for 
Mrs. Rossman. To think of my always feeling 
so shy toward her — but she was a bit distant 
oncel One day she seen the doctor stop here 
twice, and so she came over, brought fiowers 
and jell, and was jest as friendly! ^Miss 
Spooler,’ says she, ^you go and lie down and 


THE AWAKENING AT ST. JOHN’S 


67 


have a nap and I’ll see to things.’ I was so 
tuckered out that I didn’t say yea nor nay, but 
flopped right down on the lounge and had such 
a good rest, and when I woke Mrs. Rossman had 
tidied up the room and made ma comfortable. 
She was with ma when she died. Ma felt kind 
of fearsome, but Mrs. Rossman held her hand 
and spoke so comfortably and prayed, till ma 
turned her face toward me, all shining and 
happy, and she says, ‘It’s all right, daughter 
Tildy. The river is black and deep and the 
weather stormy, but He’ll carry me over to 
where there’s no more pain nor crying nor 
worry!’ ” 

Mrs. Saltsby, who was also a listener to Miss 
Spooler’s recital, weeping with ever-ready Irish 
sympathy, broke out earnestly, “Aye, she do 
be a Protestant, Mrs. Rossman be, but the 
Blessed Vargin won’t overlook her, I’m thinkin’l 
I used to believe, an’ it was yersilf that did, too. 
Miss Spooler, that she looked upon us as we do 
on the dirt that covers our petaties, good enough 
in its place, sure; but she’s that changed that 
one hardly knows her! And it’s mesilf that’ll 
never forget her kindness when Tommy upsot 
the taykittle on little Nora Ellen! What’s 


68 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


made the change in the leddy I’m sure I can’t 
tell, but I’m sure that the cornin’ of that dear 
little crathur Caroline has had .something to 
do with it!” 

Miss Spooler nodded assent. 

^^Yes, that was the beginning; ’twas like the 
spring sunlight melting away the frost. And 
sometimes it seems to me that when the Lord 
wants to do something extra good in this 
world he makes use of a little child to help 
him.” 

Now, it so happened, that when Mrs. Ross 
man’s life began thus to widen out into richness 
and usefulness, the little stories and verses she 
wrote began to be touched with the new influ- 
ence. Lively fancy, fertile imagination, a 
trained intellect, these are all worth much to 
the would-be miter; but heart-culture , ah, that 
must not be lacking, for that in the long run 
often reaches out to the pleasant turn in the 
road called Success. Success meant, among 
other things, more comforts at the little quaker- 
gray cottage on Stubb’s Extension. It meant 
no stint, no lack of food or fuel; it meant books, 
pictures, flowers, with an occasional bit of dainty 
china, an easy chair, a bright rug, to say nothing 


Me awakening at st. john^s 


69 


of suitable clothing for Mrs. Rossman and her 
little charge. 

‘^You^re getting to look as young as the 
Captain, mammy dear,’^ said Caroline one after- 
noon as she brought in a bunch of pansies from 
the garden, great purple velvet ones, others of 
creamy satin, violet- veined ; and climbing on 
a chair, she began to fasten them daintily in 
the white lace lying in soft folds around Mrs. 
Rossman ^s neck and across her breast. And, 
truly the lady was a picture of winsome woman- 
hood; slight and graceful in her simple, well- 
fitting gown of gray ; her cheeks wore the delicate 
rose tints and rounded curves of returning 
health and vigor; her soft, abundant hair was 
tastefully arranged; her eyes were bright with 
excitement — and excitement occasioned by the 
fact that on this particular afternoon she was 
to appear in public — to read a paper at the 
monthly meeting of the Ladies’ Missionary 
Society of St. John’s. Her subject was only 
a simple, yet graphically told biography, that 
of a woman worker in a far-away missionary 
field. But as she read, studied and wrote about 
the heroine, Mrs. Rossman ’s heart grew full to 
overflowing with thoughts of her subject, and 


70 


THE COMING OP CAROLINE 


not a few remorseful pangs stung her at memory 
of her own indifference to the cause, while this 
woman whose career historians so vividly por- 
trayed had been faithfully enduring hardships, 
sickness, exile, dangers. 

At first when Mrs. Rossman had been asked 
to take part in the program made out by the 
leader of the missionary society, she had been 
loth to accept; she thought she had good and 
valid reasons for refusing. She was not much 
acquainted with the members of the society; 
she was new to Christian work ; she felt a distrust 
of her own powers, perhaps a slight timidity 
natural to one who had so long dwelt in seclu- 
sion. But as she read the biography to herself, 
she became imbued with the intense spiritual 
life shining out from the printed page; she for- 
got all thoughts of self in contemplating the 
magnificent example of this consecrated, queenl}’^ 
life. Why, it was an inspiration to read about 
it, and an honor to bring it out to the notice of 
others! So that now, instead of dreading the 
hour that was to bring her face to face with 
her audience, she was eager for it to arrive that 
she might tell of the beautiful mission of one 
who lived, loved and suffered for others. This, 


THE AWAKENING AT ST. JOHN’s 


71 


perhaps, was why her eyes sparkled, her cheeks 
were flushed, and she was so radiant with 
enthusiasm. 

Little Caroline, too, was radiant, and she, also, 
wore her best — a pretty white dress, soft and 
fluffy with ruffles and rosy with pink-tinted 
ribbons. For Caroline was going to a party 
— a “ real party. ” It was to be held at “ Wood- 
lawn,” Judge Dent’s fine place. It was little 
Julia Dent’s birthday, and, as Caroline said 
ecstatically, “It’s the first party I ever went 
to, mammy dear! And it’s turned out such 
a lovely afternoon. It’s going to be full of 
good times for both you and me, isn’t it? We’ve 
got our nice, pretty clothes on! You’re going 
to meet your lady friends, and, maybe, have 
ice-cream and cake, and I’m going to Julia’s, 
and, oh, there’s no telling the lots of nice things 
she’ll have. I’ll have to wait until I get back. 
We wiU never, never forget this afternoon, 
will we, mammy dear?” 

Alas! Caroline’s words were only too true! 
Neither she nor Mrs. Rossman ever forgot that 
afternoon! 

An hour later, just as Mrs. Rossman was 
standing before her audience winning them at 


72 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


once by her beauty, grace, and earnestness, 
thrilling them by her impassioned tones, as 
she partly read, partly told the wondrous story 
of a consecrated woman’s life, another woman, 
as far removed in soul as sunlight is from the 
darkness of midnight — this woman, base, de- 
graded, cruel, merciless, was lurking behind 
the fence bordering the road leading from 
Stubbs’ Extension to the Dent’s stately home- 
stead. A tall, bold, black-eyed creature she 
was, with false red on her sallow cheeks, and 
the intensity of a cruel purpose overspreading 
her countenance. 

She had come by an early train, had made 
her way rapidly along the road to Stubbs’ Ex- 
tension, ever casting quick glances right and 
left, and when she had come within sight of the 
gray cottage had turned from the street and 
then from the highway into a vacant lot where 
was a small grove of trees with a tangled mass 
of undergrowth. Here, like a snake, she had 
lurked until long past the noon hour, her sharp 
black eyes peering through the boughs and ever 
fixed on the gray cottage. How the eyes 
gleamed when a little white figure danced out 
on the veranda, the silken curls touched by 


THE AWAKENING AT ST. JOHn’s 


73 


sunbeams glancing through the overhanging 
woodbine leaves! 

“It’s Caroline as sure as can be!” muttered 
the woman. “But, my land! How the little 
jigger’s growed ! Well, if the woman has treated 
her so well, she must like her enough to be ready 
to give somethin’ to git her back if I take her!” 
she continued, with a complacent nod of her 
head that sent the black locks tossing like a 
rough mane. 

Then she lay down again among the hedges 
and the ferns ; flowers pressed close around her, 
their sweet, pretty faces in such strange con- 
trast to the coarse, bloated one of this creature, 
who was called a woman, but who seemed to 
have none of the lovely attributes of her sex. 
Stolidly she lay there, blind to the beauty of 
the wondrous summer sky with its sapphire 
blue and soft pearl and gold-edged clouds ; blind 
to the perfection of bud, leaf, and blossom crushed 
by her soiled, tattered garments; blind to the 
meaning of Nature’s teaching, seeing only be- 
fore her a black, baleful plan. And thus she 
waited, ever alert, ever on the watch for the 
little, white figure dancing in and out of the 
gray cottage. 


74 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


By and by, Mrs. Rossman also came out on 
the veranda. She stooped and kissed the little 
girl, and her clear tones floated out to where 
the concealed watcher lay. 

“It is time for us to go, darling. Goodbye! 
I hope you will have, oh, such a nice time! If 
it wasn’t so late I’d walk down there with you, 
but then you know the road to Woodlawn very 
well.” 

“Of course, mammy!” in a tone of impor- 
tance. “ I’ve been up to Julia’s dozens of times. 
Goodbye, mammy, kiss me again! Oh, you 
do look the beautifulest!” — the sentence ended 
in a rapturous squeeze. 

Over the evil watcher’s face crept a sneer. 

“Humph! I guess my little lady’ll miss her 
kisses!” she muttered. 

Meanwhile, Caroline, a radiant vision in white 
and rose, started down the road with feet that 
seemed to dance rather than walk. She had 
gone barely half way of her little journey and 
had reached the only lonely part of the road, 
the grove of trees and the tangled berry pasture, 
when a shadow much longer than her own little 
one fell upon the path. Then came a sudden 
pang of fear wrenching her little heart. She 
turned — all the rose-bloom left her innocent face. 

“'Mag! 0, Mag! Is it you?” 


» 


I 

1 



I 


1 


1 







f 



I 


MAG ! O, MAG ! IS IT YOU? 





CHAPTER VI. 


A MISSIONARY MEETING. 

N that day the missionary meeting 
was honored with the presence of 
the minister ’s mother. It happened 
to be the time of her semi-annual 
visit to her son; she usually came 
every summer and winter, her ad- 
vent always causing a pleasant 
little flutter among the church 
members. For a very charming 
old lady was Mrs. Leonard. 

Not so old in looks, perhaps, 
though her fine, silken puffs of hair 
were as white as thistle-down — yet 
her eyes were bright and merry, and 
her complexion had the delicate, 
pearly tint one sometimes sees in elderly people, 
and which is always so charming. She was a tiny, 
sprightly body, erect in bearing and stately in 
manner, though having the affability and sweet 
graciousness so characteristic of her son. She 

75 



76 


THE COMING OF CAROLINll 


took an active interest in the affairs of St. John^s, 
and her presence at the missionary meeting was 
expected and welcomed. She sat, as usual, in 
the center of a circle of the grand dames of the 
congregation, though by her tact and grace and 
friendly recognition of all she kept herself in 
touch with the more humble members. She 
knew everybody, and her memory for names 
was a marvel. Consequently, when Mrs.Ross- 
man entered the room, and with modest, yet 
self-possessed air, made her way toward her 
hostess, the president, Mrs. Leonardos bright 
eyes at once perceived her. 

“ That is a newcomer, is it not?’^ she said in a 
low tone to Mrs. Grigsby, who sat beside her. 

Now Mrs. Grigsby was a large portly lad)q 
slow in manner and speech. The passementerie 
on her satin sleeves glittered and jingled im- 
pressively as she raised her eyeglass up to her 
face, and said deliberately: 

^^Oh, that slender lady in gray? It is Mrs. 
Rossman, not exactly a newcomer; she^s lived 
here some time, I believe, but in seclusion, being 
in mourning, you know. It is only since there 
has been such an awakening in our church that 
we have become acquainted with her. We con- 



SHE WAS ONE ABSORBED BY HER SUBJECT 



A MISSIONARY MEETING 


77 


sider her a valuable acquisition, and, why, you 
must have heard of her, my dear Mrs. Leonard! 
She is a particular friend of your son, our dear 
pastor,’^ and here a mild chuckle gurgled down 
the speaker’s fat throat. 

^^Oh, yes, I have heard Maurice speak of her 
and always in terms of the highest commenda- 
tion,” was the calm response. She is a person 
whose acquaintance I anticipate much pleasure 
in making. I must own that I was struck by 
her appearance. She so much resembles an 
old-time friend of mine — a dear, dear school- 
mate of long ago. I wonder ” 

^^Hush! hush!” came in a low murmur 
from the circle of ladies. Hush, the president 
is about to open the meeting!” 

^^And Mrs. Rossman is the first on the pro- 
gram,” Mrs. Grigsby added in a whisper. 

Other eyes besides Mrs. Leonard’s lingered 
on Mrs. Rossman when she began to read, but 
the idle and curious glances were soon changed 
to earnest, thoughtful attention. For the 
reader had something more than a mere pleasing 
personality; she was one who was absorbed by 
her subject, and who imparted some of her en- 
thusiasm to her hearers ; and as the sweet, strong 


78 


THE COMING OP CAROLINE 


voice read on there seemed a hidden force back 
of the simple words — a fire that struck through 
and touched those that listened. The beauty, 
the pathos, the glory of the life were told in 
simple language, yet with a voice whose every 
cadence charmed and thrilled. Surely Mrs. 
Rossman had no need to complain of lack of 
attention, for when she ended she might have 
seen that she had won the triumph of tears. 

But the minister’s mother, as she pressed 
forward with others to speak appreciative 
words, still wore on her face a puzzled ex- 
pression. 

^^My dear,” she exclaimed, as she took Mrs. 
Rossman ’s hand, pardon an old woman’s 
curiosity! I want to ask you whether you ever 
heard of Agatha Graham?” 

A rapt, beautiful expression suddenly over- 
swept the younger woman’s face. 

Agatha Graham!” she repeated, almost 
reverently. ^^Why, that was my mother’s 
maiden name.” 

Mrs. Leonard’s little, wrinkled white hands 
patted together softly — triumphantly. 

^^Ah! the mystery is solved! I fear I have 
been staring at you rudely ever since you 


A MISSIONARY MEETING 


79 


entered the room, but you so strongly resemble 
my dear, dear schoolmate. Did you ever hear 
your mother speak of Laura Holbrook?” 

“Oh, many times!” was the animated re- 
joinder. 

“I was Laura — she was Agatha — we were 
two happy girls! But years and circumstan- 
ces have caused us to drift apart. ■ But I have 
always cherished a beautiful memory of her.” 

“ Nor did she forget you,” said Mrs. Rossman, 
eagerly. 

“Now I have a double interest in you,” con- 
tinued the elder lady. “ I wanted to meet you 
because Maurice, my son, has told me what a 
help you have been to him. Ah, if you only 
knew how grateful a mother’s heart is toward 
those who cheer and aid the one whose labors 
are of such interest to her. I have been proud 
to be Maurice’s confidante; I have rejoiced 
over his successes and been anxious with him 
when he has been perplexed. Consequently, 
when you became his appreciative friend, one 
of the most faithful of members — why, he wrote 
and told me about it — yes, told me all about 
you as well as the coming of Caroline — ‘the 
dear quaint child’ as he calls her.” 


80 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


Mrs. Rossman looked down — she was not 
remarkably tall, but this woman with the peach- 
bloom face and snowy curls was so tiny — down 
into the gentle eyes and winsome face, and felt 
her own heart stirred by the mother-love there. 

^^The ^coming of Caroline V’ she repeated 
softly. '^So he — Mr. Leonard — has told you 
about that. Ah, that coming meant a great 
deal for me! It unlocked icy barriers, brought 
summer sunshine into my soul and has renewed 
my life.^^ 

^^And whoso shall receive one such little 
child in my name, receiveth me/’ quoted the 
sweet, quavering voice. 

^^Yes,” reverently — and then, in a tone of 
happy pride, as the crowd pressed closer around 
them — '^you must come and see my little Caro- 
line — for I have learned to call her mine.” 

Yes, I hope to see her soon, ” came the hearty 
rejoinder. Perhaps,” — slowly, with a frank, 
yet keen glance of inquiry — ^‘perhaps, this 
evening, if you will not be too tired after your 
exertions here, my son and I will waive cere- 
mony and walk over to call on you. I think I 
may tell you confidentially that Maurice had the 
.audacity to suggest it,” with a gay little laugh. 


A MISSIONARY MEETING 


81 


A soft flush overspread Mrs. Rossman’s 
cheeks, but she looked up frankly. 

“Both little Caroline and myself will be 
pleased,” she said cordially. 

But alas! and alas! 

When, later in the afternoon, Mrs. Rossman 
wended her way up to Stubbs’ Extension, and 
came in sight of the little gray cottage, she fell 
to wondering why no dancing little white figure 
came to meet her. A little feeling of misgiving 
came over her, but she banished it, saying with 
a smile, “ I have been in such a giddy whirl of 
excitement this afternoon that it tells on my 
nerves. Of course Caroline hasn’t returned 
from the grand affair at the Dent’s. The hours 
were from three to six, but it’s hard to drag 
children from their play. My little straggler 
will come along pretty soon, or if she doesn’t, 
as soon as I have rested a bit, I will walk over 
and get her. Perhaps that is what the darling 
is waiting for.” 

She turned to go in at her gate, but a voice 
called her, and she paused. 

It was Miss Spooler, and that little, old spins- 
ter was hurrying across the street, her petticoats 
lifted high, and the points of her old-fashioned 


82 


THE COMING OP CAROLINE 


congress gaiters tip-toeing from stone to stone 
to avoid sundry puddles. 

“How do you do, Mrs. Rossman! When I 
see ye a cornin’ — alone — says I to myself ‘I’d 
better run over.’” 

“Alone ! ” Why did the emphasis on the word 
bring a chill to Mrs. Rossman ’s heart. And 
why was Miss Spooler’s face, usually so pallid 
and expressionless, all a flush with anxiety? 

“Say, Mrs. Rossman,” the little dressmaker 
continued, “You didn’t leave little Car’line 
anywheres, did ye?” 

“ Caroline went to Julia Dent’s birthday party ; 
did you forget that this was the afternoon?” 

Miss Spooler twisted her thimble around 
and around her little worn finger. 

“Oh, I knowed she was goin’! She run over 
to show me her dress and to praise me for the way 
I made it. She looked as sweet as a pink. 
But you see, ma’am, the party is about over; 
it’s most seven o’clock. I see Jedge Dent 
awhile ago drivin’ by, takin’ some o’ the young- 
sters to their homes. I thought maybe he’d 
bring Car’line, and I dropped my lapboard and 
shears and went out on the steps, intendin’ to 
have her come in and stay with me until you 


A MISSIONARY MEETING 


83 


got home. But the Jedge he drove right by. 
Then I concluded you’d gone over there after 
her.” 

“ Oh, I dare say she stayed there a little while 
longer; she and Julia are great friends, you 
know,” was the smiling reply, though down in 
the speaker’s heart was an increasing feeling of 
discomfort. 

“There’s the Jedge now,” Miss Spooler ex- 
claimed excitedly, “A-comin’ back in his 
empty surrey!” 

Judge Dent, a fine looking man with iron- 
gray hair and a florid face, reined up his horse 
as he drew near the two women. 

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he called out 
blandly, and then he added with some reproach 
in his tone, “ My dear Mrs. Rossman, how could 
you disappoint us so? Poor little Julia declares 
that her birthday party was only half a one 
without the presence of little Caroline!” 

“Without little Caroline!” Mrs. Rossman and 
Miss Spooler echoed. 

“Yes; we all missed her I assure you. My 
wife kept the refreshments waiting as long as 
she possibly could, hoping that Caroline would 
finally come and ” 


84 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


“Why, Judge Dent, Caroline did come,” Mrs. 
Rossman interrupted with sudden sharpness. 

The Judge rubbed his hands reflectively — 
one of his habits, people said, when he was on 
the bench and a little perplexed by contending 
attorneys. 

“I hardly understand what you mean, my 
dear madam, though your words are plain 
enough. I can only repeat that your little 
Caroline — and I know the child as well as I 
know my own little Julia — your little Caroline 
did not come to the party. She has not been 
at Woodlawn this whole day!” 

Mrs. Rossman ’s face grew white; she moved 
her lips as if to speak, but just then Miss Spooler 
broke out sobbing and, exclaiming excitedly, 

“ Oh, it’s just what I was afraid it was. I had 
a feeling that something was wrong. Oh, if 
I only stopped the horse in time; I could 
have hung on the bridle, even if I’d been 
atrampled on.” 

“What do you mean?” The Judge and Mrs. 
Rossman asked the question together. 

“Well, you see,” Miss Spooler continued 
tearfully, “you see I do sewin’ for folks in all 
parts of the township, an’ there ain’t no trolley 


A MISSIONARY MEETING 


85 


cars in most of the directions an’ I git pretty- 
tuckered out, an’ Doctor Graves he says to 
me, says he, ‘Miss Spooler, you git a bicycle. 
It’ll save ye time and money and give you 
health and pleasure.’ Well, I laughed at him, 
thinkin’ I was most too old to ride, but he kept 
at me every time I met him, and so a week or 
two ago I had a chance to buy a real good second- 
hand wheel cheap, and I’ve been kinder prac- 
ticin’ on it ever since. I tried first in the house, 
proppin it up between the stairway and the 
hall table, and I’d get on the wheel in awful 
fear and tremblin’ an’ sit there a-learnin’ to 
keep my balance. I soon got confidence, for even 
if the wheel did wobble and begin to topple over, 
I could grab on the stair-rails or the table. By 
and by I could peddle a bit an’ keep a-goin’ till 
I landed in the kitchen. But I was a-learnin’. 
So to-day I thought I would try it out of doors. 
I made up my mind I’d go on a real quiet road 
like the one leading out to your place, Jedge. 
I knowed there was a grove alongside where I 
could turn into if I heard wheels or horses’ hoofs, 

because ” here Miss Spooler blushed up to 

the roots of her scanty hair — “ I was so bashful 
about folks seeing me ride — no, not ride — I mean 


86 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


fall off, for it seems though I tried to fall off in 
as many different ways as there was spokes. 
But there, don’t get impatient. I’m cornin’ 
to what I’ve got to tell. Well, as it happened 
this afternoon there weren’t many folks coming 
and going; only the children on their way to 
the party, and they were so busy about their 
finery that none of them noticed me except 
one sassy little boy who called out ^Whoa, 
Emma!’ or some such stuff. 

After awhile I got to riding better, and was 
really beginning to enjoy it, when suddenly I 
thought I heard a wagon cornin’ over the strip 
of crushed gravel farther down the road. So 
I dodged into the woods and waited. The 
wagon kept a-comin’ along the road. It was a 
buggy and a horse — looked like a livery rig. 
The man who was drivin’ wasn’t much to brag 
of — a flashy lookin’ city feller — a sporty man 
kinder pickpockety — with a purple necktie 
and a red face. I didn’t like his looks, so I sot 
still, feelin’ scared, when he reined up his horse 
and let it come to a full stop. 

^^He drew out his handkerchief, wiped off 
his forehead — it’s been a hot day you know — and 
scolded and swore. ‘She ought to have been 


A MISSIONARY MEETING 


87 


here before this,’ I heard him say to himself. 
‘We ain’t got any time to lose.’ 

“ I was wondering what he meant, when, just 
then I caught sight of something cornin’ up the 
road. It was a woman, and she was partly 
carryin’, partly draggin’, a child with her. I 
could hear her coaxin’, ‘Come, now, don’t be 
afraid. I’ll give you a nice ride. Yes a real 
nice ride and some candy and ’ 

“But the child kept on cryin’ and I couldn’t 
hear very plain what she said, for the woman 
was trying to put her hand over its mouth. 
An’ I says to myself, ‘Where have I seen that 
woman before,’ for it seemed as though I had. 
And the child struggled and seemed though it 
said, ‘No, no, let me tell mammy first. I 
want ’ 

“Then the man swore again. Sech awful 
oaths. ‘Oh, have done with it,’ he called out. 
‘ Lift her up and I’ll give her something to quiet 
her. Don’t you know that we’ve got to cut 
this business short?’ I got excited at this. 
‘ This looks like a case of kidnapping!’ says I to 
myself. I started up to go and interfere, but 
by this time the woman had lifted the child into 
the wagon — it struggled and screamed — and then 


88 THE COMING OF CAROLINE 

my heart gave a great jump into my throat, for 
as part of the shawl which the woman had 
wrapped around the child fell back, I caught a 
glimpse of a pretty dimity frock — with pink 
sash and bows — it reminded me of Caroline’s — 
and the pretty curls made me think of Car ’line’s 
too, though the face I couldn’t see. But I was 
so scared I stood stock-still for a minute, and 
then, quicker ’n a flash, everybody was in the 
buggy and the horse was goin’ like a streak, 
while I was runnin’ like a wild thing down the 
road hollerin’ ‘Stop thief! Stop, you cruel, 
wicked kidnappers!’ And I couldn’t find any- 
body in sight I could call to help me. Oh, 
Mrs. Rossman!” — here the tears streamed like 
rain down the little dressmaker’s face — “Oh, 
Mrs. Rossman, do say it wasn’t Car’line!” 

But there were no tears on Mrs. Rossman ’s 
face. Instead, a deathly pallor — a look of woe 
unspeakable. 

“ It must have been Caroline — my little Caro- 
line!” she said in tones of anguish. 



BLACKTHORNS TENEMENTS 


7 







CHAPTER VII. 

BLACKTHORNE TENEMENTS. 

N old tenement stands over- 
hanging the river just where 
the tide creeps up, where there 
is a forest of shipping, and the 
air smells of oil, tar and dis- 
agreeable fishy odors. In the 
daytime the adjoining streets 
and alleys are full of bustle; 
singing, swearing stevedores 
are loading and unloading the cargoes; great 
vans and wagons roll up and down ; Irish apple- 
women are shrieking in rivalry with Italian fruit 
vendors. At night there is less noise — that is, 
of the honest bustle of trade. But there are other 
sounds, staggering footsteps, shrill bursts of 
unholy laughter, the tumult of angry quarreling, 
often with the accompaniment of a shriek, a 
struggle, a thud on the pavement, or oftener, 
maybe, a dull splash in the water, with only the 

89 



90 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


outward-bound waves to record the fact that a 
crime has been committed. 

There is an evil name to the localitj^ — hideous 
rumors ever lurking around Blackthorne Tene- 
ments. Foreign-looking sailors pass in and 
out of the doorways; bold women leer from the 
windows; the rattle of dice, the oaths of the 
gambler, and the clinking of glasses are heard 
until the coming of the gray dawn. 

It was to one of these foul old tenements that 
Mag Smith had taken little Caroline, and when 
the child awoke from the stupor caused by the 
fumes of chloroform, her little heart was almost 
broken because of grief and fear. 

She sat there by the window in the fourth 
story looking out upon the black, oily waters 
below — a little figure, innocent and pure, 
strangely out of place in the dirty, untidy, 
poorly-furnished room. Mag had stripped from 
her the dainty dimity dress, the sash and jaunty 
rosettes of pink ribbon, the bronze slippers with 
their buckled bows, these together with the 
daisy-garlanded hat, had all been greedily ex- 
changed ^for sundry bottles of whiskey, rum 
and gin. Now Caroline’s tender body was clad 
in an ill-fitting, coarse calico frock; her little 


BLACKTHORNE TENEMENTS 


91 


feet were bare, and her silken curls all a-tangle. 
Even the expression of the child’s face seemed 
changed. 

All the rose-tints were gone; all the sparkles 
from the innocent eyes; all the sweet laughing 
curves of the red mouth. Pale, listless, droop- 
ing like a flower, the little girl sat there hour 
after hour looking out on the moving water and 
the moving crowd on the street bordering the 
river. 

Once, aroused to sudden desperation, she 
had leaned recklessly far out over the rotting 
window-sill and called for help from a couple 
of sailors rowing down the stream, for their 
honest, merry laughter and good-natured faces 
gave her a gleam of hope that they might help 
her. 

The men did not hear the pitiful call — but 
Mag did, unfortunately, and, rushing in from 
the adjoining room, she seized the helpless child 
by the arm, drew her back, then, shaking her 
soundly, slapped her until there were red streaks 
on the little white cheek. 

“Do that again if you dare!” hissed the 
woman. “And if you do, when night comes 
I’ll pitch you down into the water!” 


92 


THE COMING OP CAROLINE 


Thus she threatened, then paused half- 
abashed at the lightning of righteous wrath 
flashing from the child’s stern eyes. 

Caroline drew herself up like a little queen 
as she said in low, steady tones: 

“ It is not I, Mag, who need to be afraid. It 
is you who are so cruel, so wicked, you need to 
fear death! Oh, if the Captain were here, you 
would not dare to treat me so!” 

“Pshaw! I guess the Captain passed in her 
checks months ago. She hasn’t been bothering 
around here lately with her sanctimonious 
palavering, at any rate, ’’was the rough rejoinder. 
“ As for that Mrs. Rossman of yours, we’ll see how 
much her affection is worth. If she cares to 
plank down a thousand dollars or so she can 
have ye; if not, you had better make up your 
mind to put up with my quarters; you’ve done 
it before. And it won’t be long now until you 
can begin to earn your own living, and bring in 
a httle money for me. I’ve half a mind to send 
you out begging when we git back to New 
York!” And Mag grinned maliciously, then 
added: “But I guess I’ll wait till I hear from 
yer mammy, as ye call her. It was a cute thing 
of Bill to put up the job of stealin’ ye.” 


BLACKTHORNE TENEMENTS 


93 


Bill was Mag’s partner in iniquity. A thief 
and a gambler he was, and one of the evil char- 
acters who frequented Blackthorne Tenements- 
Many a policeman would have been glad to find 
the man whom Miss Spooler had described as 
“a sporty man, kinder pickpockety, with a 
purple necktie and a red face.” Bill didn’t 
always wear the purple necktie, but he did wear 
the red face. 

“Mrs. Rossman isn’t a rich lady,” said 
Caroline soberly, when Mag had finished her 
chuckle over Bill’s “cuteness.” “She was rich 
once, but she isn’t now, and she has to work 
hard. Sometimes she sits up, oh, ever so late 
at night writing, and it makes her tired. A 
thousand dollars is a lot of money! Can’t you 
make it less, Mag? I — I — don’t really think 
I am worth it,” and Caroline’s lips quivered 
as she sat there with her small hands crossed 
on her knee, and looked pleadingly at the 
woman. 

The latter turned abruptly. Hardhearted 
as she was, there was something in the innocent 
gaze that she dared not meet. And the red 
streaks on the cheek were a reproach. 

“ Oh, I guess you’re worth a thousand dollars, 


94 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


Caroline/^ she said with a forced laugh. 
only wish now that I’d said two thousand. 
Bill and I made inquiries about Mrs. Rossman 
before we went into this little game, and it 
seems she’s hooked on to some rich acquain- 
tances. She can get a thousand dollars easy 
enough if she tries — borrow it, I mean.” 

And, so saying, Mag went out for her usual 
evening dram. She locked the door behind her, 
for she kept Caroline a prisoner. 

The little girl sat there in silence, her heart 
heavy with grief and longing. Suddenly her 
face brightened a little as a thought suggested 
itself. 

Perhaps if Mammy does borrow the money 
I can help her pay it back,” she said to herself. 
^^My patchwork quilt is almost done, and Mrs. 
Dent thought it was so pretty; maybe she’d 
buy it. And then, too, I can help mammy find 
names for her stories, and I’ll do lots of the 
housework so that she’ll have more time to 
write. Oh, if I can only get back to her again 
— back to the nice pretty home” — and the 
sentence ended in a sob. 

The shadows deepened in the miserable 
room; they seemed to take grotesque shapes 


BLACKTHOKNE TENEMENTS 


95 


unto themselves, and to dance, imp-like, on the 
wall and in remote corners. 

From the saloons far below there floated 
upward the usual nightly sounds of boisterous 
mirth, quarreling and cursing. It was all very 
lonesome and depressing, and though not gen- 
erally a timid child nor a morbid one, Caroline, 
on this particular night, was filled with terror. 
She crouched there in the darkness a little 
shivering heap. Her vivid imagination pictured 
many things, possible and impossible. Suppose 
Mag should drink — drink — drink at the saloon 
and come home in a furious passion and hurt 
her. Carohne was afraid of Mag now; afraid 
of the red gleams in the big, black eyes; afraid 
of the fierce strength — of the evil demon in the 
woman. She had a fear, too, of the black, 
reeking tenements with their disreputable 
inmates — the noisy, quarrelsome slatterns and 
foul-mouthed men — afraid of the ugly, jeering 
children. She was afraid — yes, actually afraid — 
of the black shadows lurking in yonder corners 
of the room. 

And so, trembling throughout every fibre 
of her little body, she sat there as hour after 
hour passed. 


96 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


Suddenly there was a louder noise below — 
a different noise! There came the tramp of 
many feet on the stone pavements, mingled 
with the sound of fife, drum and cornet. With 
a little cry Caroline ran across the room, 
and, scrambling up to the window, looked 
down. 

There on the street which led to the bridge 
crossing the river was a flickering line of torches 
waving this way and that; now and then arose 
a hearty shout of Praise the Lord!^’ Halle- 
lujah!^’ heard between the blasts of the little 
band that was doing its best to bring out 
the stirring strains of Onward, Christian 
Soldiers.” 

^^Oh, it’s the dear, good Salvation Army!” 
Caroline exclaimed joyously, and somehow a 
feeling of intense relief and of security came 
over her as she beheld the well-known uniform 
— that uniform which dares to penetrate even 
where that of the law hesitates to go. ^‘Oh, 
if my Captain were only among them!” Caro- 
line sighed. Standing on tip-toes she peered 
out. But the flickering light of the torches 
and the wind-fluttered gas jet of the street lamp 
on the corner did not make it easy to re- 


BLACKTHORNE TENEMENTS 


97 


cognize any particular wearer of the dark-blue 
garb. 

Onward then, ye faithful, 

Join our happy throng 
Blend with ours your voices' 

In the triumph song. 

Thus came the melody in a mighty blast from 
the cornet, while the drum thumped ecstatically, 
and a chorus of voices took up the grand old 
song. 

Suddenly — almost abruptly the music ceased. 

"Halt!” came the steady command of the 
leader. Then the little company of Salva- 
tionists stood still, first forming into a circle — 
a living cordon dividing off the mass of human 
beings thronging the street. A noisy, rough, 
jostling mass it was — the very scum of society; 
sullen-browed men with wicked eyes and sensual 
mouths; hardened gamblers with hard sneering 
faces; bold women staggering here and there, 
swearing and scolding in high-pitched voices. 
Red-nosed topers, maudlin or belligerent as 
their mood happened to be, lurked in foul groups 
near the saloons. 

These formed the congregation of the street 
preacher — an aged man with a long white beard 


98 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


sweeping his broad chest, a man whose face 
was singularly pure and childlike, though the 
dark eyes peering from beneath bushy white 
brows, had the fire of the soldier in them, 
and the tall, gaunt figure was as erect as a 
veteran’s. 

Fragmentary sentences of his discourse floated 
up to the window where little Caroline leaned 
listening. “Friends” he said — “aye, I call you 
friends, though I know not your names. Even 
more I call you brothers and sisters! For we 
are of one family — children scattered here and 
there. But, ah, some of you look sad and 
friendless, so let me tell you of a friend:” 

I Ve found a friend ; oh, such a Friend ! 

He loved me ere I knew Him ! 

He drew me with the cords of love 

And thus he bound me to Him ! 

rang out the clear, sweet voice of one of the 
“ hallelujah lassies. ” 

“Yes, some of you look sorrowful,” con- 
tinued the preacher. “Bitterly sorrowful as 
though you had lost all things — home, friends, 
money, good name, honor — even your souls. 
Let me tell you of the pitiful One who will wipe 
all tears from your eyes ; will take your bruised 


BLACKTHORNE TENEMENTS 


99 


hearts and apply to them the balm of his for- 
giveness, his comfort and his love. But — ” 
here the speaker’s voice thrilled with earnest- 
ness, while his glance of penetrating power 
was like a flash of lightening piercing the dark- 
ness — “ my dear friends, so many of your faces 
are the faces of sinners! I see the ‘mark of 
the beast ’ — the scars of moral wounds, the signs 
of soul leprosy — the cancer of foul moral disease 
eating into your very life! Oh, I speak truly! 
You need not turn away! You carry your 
face with you. It is the same face when you 
put out your lamp in your room to-night and 
all is in darkness — the same face when you 
hide it in your pillow. Perhaps some of you 
may have no pillow, only the cold stones like 
Jacob of old! If so, then God grant that like 
him, you may see the visions of the angels. I 
repeat, your face tells its own tale, and that 
same face shall lie in the coffin some time, wear- 
ing the death-seal and the sin-seal mingled. 
Do you want to bear the mark to your graves? 
Or do you want the great Healer to come to you, 
to purify you and make you as a little child 
again, meet for the kingdom of heaven? I say, 
do you not want him? He will come to you. 


LofC. 


100 


THK COMING OF CAROLINE 


oh, SO willingly! Reach out to him! Believe 
on him!” 

The crowd thickened, pushed forward, jostled 
each other, laughing good-naturedly, then 
hooted derisively and moved on, one by one, 
curiosity gratified. But amid the laughter low 
sobs were sometimes heard, and figures in filthy 
rags and tatters knelt on the hard stones of 
the pavement. 

Ah, some victories were gained by these 
Salvationists, these humble soldiers of the 
Cross, who were so nobly fighting against the 
hosts of sin. Strange, uncouth, startling though 
their methods might be, work in their hands 
met with many a success, for, as one of England’s 
noted men has said, “ These people are a great 
company and a great fact. They are doing 
with their refuges, their homes, their workshops 
and their colonies the greatest work that has been 
attempted in our time. They will endure and 
not turn to crystal like the Franciscan friars, 
their predecessors, because they ask no alms 
and take no money and live on the poorest 
wage that will support them.” 

But little Caroline was not thinking of the 
great forces battling, the great issues at stake. 


SLACKTHORNE TENEMENTS 


101 


To her the well-known uniform represented 
sympathy, help and protection. 

Eagerly she gazed from the window, her soft 
hair drenched with night-dews. 

“Ah, if the Captain were only there!” she 
exclaimed. “Then” — she paused and listened 
intently. 

For the white-haired preacher had ceased 
speaking now, and a woman’s voice had taken 
up the theme — a penetrating voice, wondrously 
magnetic — every tone clear and musical, 
vibrating with intense feeling. 

The first notes brought a startled look to 
Caroline’s countenance. She peered down 
hoping to see the speaker. Just then there 
was a little rift in the crowd made by one or 
two persons who knelt down, and over the 
bowed heads Caroline caught a glimpse of the 
“hallelujah lass.” 

The face seen in the ruddy glow of the torches 
was pale, pure, glowing with inspiration and 
tender compassion. 

“Oh, it is — it is the Captain!” Caroline 
screamed in a wild burst of joy. “0 Captain, 
my dear, dear Captain!” 

Her exclamation was faintly heard in the 


102 


O'HE COMING OF CAROLINE 


street below. The young woman who had been 
speaking left the sentence unfinished while she 
gazed upward. 

But just then there was a commotion in the 
crowd; a bold, black-eyed creature with a 
brazen countenance was forcing her way through 
using fists and elbows in a reckless manner. 
Her painted face was purple with wrath; there 
was an evil gleam in her eyes ; like a fierce 
beast, eager for prey, she made her way along, 
thrusting this one and that one aside, heedless 
even that she trampled on the kneeling penitents. 

^^I’ll teach the brat,’’ she was heard to mut- 
ter. ^^I’ll teach her a lesson she won’t forget.” 

She reached the low, dark doorway of the 
tenement; went up the rickety stairs — a very 
demon of wrath! Unsteadied by drink her 
hand could hardly unlock the door, but at last 
the key turned. 

^^I’ll teach you — ” but Mag, for it was she, 
did not finish, for before the door was barely 
ajar a small figure had forced its way through 
and little Caroline, her feet winged by fear, hope, 
joy, desperation, went flying down the staircase! 

The Captain! Oh, if she could only get to 
the Captain! 


BLACKTHORNE TENEMENTS 


103 


Mag turned, a look of devilish malignity on 
her face, and pursued the child. Down the 
first flight of stairs she went, and gained on her 
in the second; in the middle of the third flight 
she caught Caroline and shook her as a huge 
mastiff might shake a tiny kitten; she dragged 
her this way and that, merciless in her drunken 
rage; finally she threw her savagely down the 
half-dozen steps remaining. 

There was the sound of a thud in the dark- 
ness below — then all was still! 


CHAPTER VIII. 


SEEKING FOR THE LOST. 

H, don^t stare at me so!^’ 

Mrs. Rossman was alone in 
her little sitting-room, but the 
remark was not addressed to 
herself — it was to a small, waxen 
image attired in a blue satin 
gown, lace-ruffled, and a wonder- 
ful picture hat; in short, to little 
Caroline’s doll, who, ever since 
the mysterious departure of her 
mistress had been as obedient 
as Casabianca of burning deck ” 
fame. The doll was sitting in 
the little red rocking chair in the 
corner, a pretty creature with blond curls, 
delicately-tinted face and big, brown eyes. 

It was the fixed gaze of those same eyes which 
made Mrs. Rossman nervous and caused her 
to utter the impatient exclamation which has 
just been quoted. 



104 


SEEKING FOR THE LOST 


105 


There seemed something almost reproachful 
about those eyes as if they were asking the 
question, “What has become of my little mis- 
tress? When is she coming back?” 

Ah, these same questions had been revolving 
in Mrs. Rossman’s brain day and night! What 
had become of Caroline? When was she coming 
back? Would she ever come back? Who 
could tell! 

Since that pleasant summer afternoon when 
she had returned to find the child missing life 
had gone on like a dull, dreadful dream! At 
first there had been much excitement, much 
hurrying to and fro. The neighbors, sympa- 
thetic and solicitous, had sallied forth to scour 
the country far and near; telegrams sped across 
the wires; the police force were on the watch 
and detectives employed. Now and then there 
came a great throb of hope; somebody fancied 
that he had found a clue; some detective, like 
a sleuth-hound, imagined that he was on the 
scent, but it always turned out to be a mistake 
somewhere, and hope gave way to despair. 

Mrs. Rossman began to realize that there 
might be something more sorrowful than 
mourning over a dead child — it was the gnawing 


106 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


suspense over a little one torn from her arms and 
taken out into a cruel, vicious world to be 
beaten and abused, to grow up, perhaps, to 
shame and degradation! Who could tell what 
little Carohne’s fate might be? 

So it was no wonder that Mrs. Rossman felt 
a pang as she looked at the waxen image sitting 
in the toy chair, its tiny garments of blue and 
white smoothed down carefully just as the 
little girl’s hands had left them. 

We know that the coming of Caroline had 
meant much to Mrs. Rossman — an awakening 
from dull apathy and selfish grief, as the sweet- 
ness of dawn breaks into dark night; a lifting 
out of morbid moroseness — a stimulating to 
higher and better things. 

And now the question was, would she sink 
back into her old self? Was “the last state” 
to “be worse than the first?” 

She asked this question herself, and perhaps 
the asking it was helpful to her, for it revealed 
the danger threatening her. It aroused her to 
struggle as a swimmer has to struggle against the 
flood ready to submerge him. 

But God be praised! the struggle was a brave 
one and she was to come off conqueror. Never 


SEEKING FOR THE LOST 


107 


again would she sorrow as one without hope; 
never again could she sink into the low abyss 
of despair. 

“I do be a-thinkin’ ma'am, that it worr a 
pity that ye iver laid eyes on the child, and that 
yer heartsthrings got twisted around her, if 
she had to be snatched away like this!” ex- 
claimed Mrs. Saltsby tearfully. 

But little Miss Spooler said softly, and with 
a far-away look in her wistful eyes, “Oh, don’t 
say that! It is better to lose them than never 
to have had them!” 

And Mrs. Saltsby, thinking of her own brood, 
nodded assent, saying, “Faith, an’ it’s roight 
yez may be, shure! But if I could lay me 
hands on that crature what sthole little Caroline 
there wouldn’t be enough lift of him or her to 
make a mop of, an’ it’s the thruth I’m tellin’ 
yez, shure!” 

And Mrs. Saltsby ’s expressions of sympathy 
and indignation found an echo in every home 
on Stubbs’ Extension — yes, and beyond, out 
on the broad avenue. 

Judge Dent himself went to no little pains 
in the making and carrying out of plans for the 
rescue of Caroline. 


108 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


^^Well succeed, Mrs. Rossman, never you ' 

fear!’^ and he added in a husky voice as he ' 

wiped his eyes furtively and blew his nose ^ ■ 

sonorously to hide his emotion. So sweet and 1 

bright a child as Caroline cannot long remain | 

unobserved! Somebody will get a clue to her, | 

and before we hardly know it well have her | ' 

back here playing with my little Julia.’’ i' ; 

But of all her friends, the one on whom Mrs. : \ 

Rossman most relied was Mr. Leonard. In her ; • i 

distress she had turned to him instinctively, ’ 

and his kindness and his calmness were most ’ 

reassuring. Like a haven of rest to a storm- | 

beaten ship, like a stanch wall against foes ? t 

without was he to this afflicted woman. Day • 

and night his prayers went up to heaven in her i 

behalf; he was patient with her tears, and -i i 

patient with her occasional rebellious outbreaks, i 

and when she gradually gained command over ; 

herself, he was ready to carry out any plan or 1 

suggestion she might have as to the recovery 
of Caroline. To attain this end his labors were 
indefatigable! He thought, he wrote, he hired j; | 

detectives, he was up early and late taking | 

strolls in all of the thoroughfares and out-of- 1 1 

the-way places of the city and its suburbs. | j 



SEEKING FOR THE LOST 


109 


In no way did he spare himself, nor did he ever 
begrudge labor or fatigue on his part. 

Little Caroline is dear to me, too!’’ he ex- 
claimed. owe much to her. Her coming 
was a blessing to me, and her return would be 
another!” 

As the days passed, he saw that the trouble 
was wearing on Mrs. Rossman. Her patient 
submission to her trial was touching to witness, 
but the sorrow was undermining her health; 
she was growing pale and thin; her step was 
slow and languid, and, as we have already seen, 
even the staring eyes of the doll in its chair 
wore on the nervous system, already impaired 
by grief and suspense. 

The poor dear will be down sick if something 
isn’t done for her!” said motherly Mrs. Leonard, 
am really worried about her!” 

'Ht tries her to sit at home in the lonely 
house,” said Mr. Leonard, sadly. ^^The in- 
activity is killing her! She seems utterly dis- 
couraged. I must go over there to-day with a 
word of cheer.” 

But when the minister called at the gray 
cottage that afternoon he found Mrs. Rossman 
fully aroused from her apathy. 


no 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


She hurried eagerly into the hall to meet him; 
in her hand she held a soiled and crumpled 
piece of paper. 

^^This came by mail to-day. It is post- 
marked ^Harmon/ our city! Perhaps, after 
all, Caroline is nearer to us than we think’’ — 
and Mrs. Rossman’s eyes shone with hope. 

You know we have all thought she was taken 
back to New York. But read this!” and she 
thrust the paper into Mr. Leonard’s outstretched 
hand. 

The missive was only a blotted scrawl, and 
ran as follows: 

Mrs. Rossman: — If you wanter git the young 
one, Caroline, you’ve got to plank down a cool 
thousand dollars and no words said. Bring the 
money to the old pier, east end of the river, 
beyond the bridge, left side, at Friday night, 
half-past ten in the evening. If you bring a 
cop with you, or try to play any tricks, you won’t 
have the child and I can tell you it ’ll be a mighty 
sight worse for her. But if you act fair and 
square, you can have her, soon’s the money’s 
paid over. I mean what I say.” 

To-day is Friday!” Mrs. Rossman exclaimed, 
as her slender fingers clasped and unclasped 
themselves nervously. '^Oh, what can I do? 


SEEKING FOR THE LOST 


111 


Do you really suppose that this Mag — for it is 
doubtless Mag — will carry out her part of the 
agreement? And oh, how can she expect me 
to get such a sum of money so soon! If I only 
had a little more time, then, you see, I might 
perhaps find a purchaser for my cottage. I 
think I will see Judge Dent right away; he has 
considerable dealings in real estate and such 
things; he may know of some one ” 

“Oh, do not trouble yourself!” Mr. Leonard 
broke in eagerly. “And surely you must not 
think of parting with your cozy little home.” 

The minister’s voice was full of the deepest 
kindness as he added, “ Do not worry, I repeat. 
The money will be forthcoming, I assure you. 
I will attend to that part — hush! yes, you may 
pay it back some time if you insist on doing it. 
But the question before us is whether this Mag 
will keep her part of the agreement.” 

“ Oh, she must — she must. If I see her, I will 
beg her on my knees to give up little Caroline!” 
Mrs. Rossman sobbed. 

“ I do not think she will be offered any such 
appeals,” and Mr. Leonard’s voice grew stern. 
“ I will have the money for her, but if she does 
not keep her word, I fancy I will not tolerate 


112 


THE COMING OP CAROLINE 


any evasion — if there is any chance at all for 
the arm of the law to reach her. However, a 
matter like this is like fighting in the dark; one 
does not know where to strike! So do not hope 
too much, my dear Mrs. Rossman; there may 
be some delay in rescuing Caroline.!’ 

It was late that evening when Mr. Leonard 
and Mrs. Rossman, with a trusty serving-man 
well in the rear, a precaution suggested by the 
minister’s mother, walked down to the place 
designated — the old pier at the east end. The 
road ran along between river and canal, being 
indeed a mere tow-path. 

It was very dark. Now and then Uiey passed 
a dull red glow from the cabin of a canal boat 
drawn up to the shore for the night, while the 
farther side of the river had its inky blackness 
faintly illumined by reflections from a paper- 
mill windows and those of a long line of tene- 
ments. The air was heavy with dampness. 
It was not a pleasant place for an evening 
stroU. 

James, the serving-man, took up his station 
on a pile of lumber near by, while Mr. Leonard 
and his companion slowly paced up and down 
the path awaiting the coming of the myste- 


SEEKING FOR THE LOST 


113 


rious stranger, who, Mrs. Rossman comforted 
herself, was to bring Caroline back again. 

They were somewhat ahead of the hour of 
meeting for, just as they reached the spot, the 
clock down in the town struck ten; so the time 
of waiting was tedious indeed, and, as the 
minutes passed, suspense seemed almost un- 
endurable. More than once Mrs. Rossman 
paused involuntarily as the sound of an ap- 
proaching footfall smote her ear, and she listened 
eagerly, longingly, for the patter of beloved 
little feet, but it was only some late toiler, 
homeward bound, or a straggling toper from 
an unsavory saloon on a distant comer. A 
sense of loneliness, of dismal foreboding op- 
pressed her, and she instinctively drew nearer 
her kind protector. 

“Oh, my heart feels so heavy,” she whis- 
pered. “Do you suppose anything has hap- 
pened to Caroline? Oh, the horror of having 
the child in the power of such persons!” 

“ Dear friend, remember Him who can bring 
all devices of the wicked to naught. Tmst Him ! 
Commit thy ways unto Him!” 

The tender words of the deep, strong voice 
comforted the trembling, fearful heart, and 


114 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


the woman turned her face from the grim dark- 
ness, the gloomy river and the lonely path, up 
toward the starry sky — toward Him who gives 
His angels charge/^ 

Suddenly Mr. Leonard paused and drew a 
long breath. Reaching into his vest pocket, 
he found a match, struck it, and held his watch 
close to the little fluttering blaze. 

Ah, it is as I thought. Nearly five minutes 
past the time for meeting the writer of that note. 
She or he has not been very punctual, or else 
means to fail in keeping the appointment.” 

^^Can we not wait longer? Maybe she has 
been delayed,” said Mrs. Rossman, in tones of 
disappointment. 

^^We will wait a little while, but not long; 
the air is full of dampness and I fear you will 
take cold.” 

They resumed their walk up and down the 
path, and there came to them faint sounds 
across the river — the sounds of martial music, 
fife, drum, cornet, mingled with voices singing: 

‘‘Like a mighty army 
Moves the Church of God; 

Brothers we are treading 
Where the saints have trod!” 


I . 



MRS. 


ROSSMAN GRASPED HER COMPANION’S ARM IN 

excitement. 


SUDDEN 


f 




SEEKING FOR THE LOST 


115 


^^Our Salvationist friends/’ Mr. Leonard 
observed. ^^May God bless their efforts.” 

The music died away and all was still, until 
presently the silence was broken by the sound 
of feet hurrying across the bridge a little farther 
down. 

Mrs. Rossman grasped her companion’s arm 
in sudden excitement. 

^'Listen! Somebody is running this way! 
Perhaps it may be the person we are expecting.” 

^^We will wait and see,” was the calm reply. 

Nearer and nearer came the flying feet. 

The moon had risen by this time, and its 
light, slanting up from the horizon, brought 
into distinctness the figure of a young man — 
a mere lad — running headlong. 

He showed no intention of slackening his 
pace, however, as he drew near, and it was not 
until the minister boldly blocked the way, 
calling out meanwhile, ^^What is the matter, 
my friend?” that he came to an abrupt pause. 

am going for an ambulance, sir, and the 
doctor! There’s been a row over in one of the 
Blackthorne Tenements! Mag Smith’s got on 
a drunk and killed her young one!” — and with- 
out waiting to give further explanations, the 
lad took to his heels again and was soon out of 
sight. 


CHAPTER IX. 


NEW RELATIONS. 

AG SMITH! Mag Smith! 
The words burned them- 
selves into Mrs. Rossman’s 
mind. Such a homely, com- 
monplace name! Why need 
she dread to hear it — to say 
it? There might be a dozen 
persons bearing a name so 
common. It need not be the 
one connected with little Caroline. Why, it must 
not be, for if it were! Mrs. Rossman shuddered, 
overcome by a sickening dread. If it were! 
Back came the words of the young man hurry- 
ing past her in the darkness, Mag Smithes killed 
her young one!” 

Mrs. Rossman glanced up at the minister's 
face. Did it not look strangely pale and wor- 
ried? Ah, he, too, feared the worst! 

But his voice was steady, his smile reassuring, 
as he looked down at her. 

116 



NEW RELATIONS 


117 


“ My friend, it is late ; you are worn out with 
excitement; I will take you home. There is 
no use of lingering here.” 

But instantly she turned and faced him de- 
terminedly. 

“Ah, let us not disguise the truth! You 
need not pander to my weakness. My love for 
the child will make me strong. I shall not cry 
out — faint. I am ready to endure anything 
— the worst, even. But alive or dead, Caroline 
must be found. And you, as well as I, fear that 
she is dead. You would take me home, get 
me out of the way, through kindly commisera- 
tion, and then hasten back, cross yonder stream, 
over to the Blackthorne Tenements, to find 
out who Mag Smith is — who the ‘young one’ 
— God pity us! — is. Whether it is Caroline — 
my Caroline. Speak out, is not this your in- 
tention?” 

The sweet, pure face was all a-quiver with 
strong emotion; the slender figure swayed in 
its intense agitation. 

Mr. Leonard looked down at her in silence. 
Then he reached out and took the small hands 
in his own strong ones. A great pity, a won- 
drous tenderness glorified his face. 


118 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


^^Dear soul! Sweet soul!^’ he said, in low, 
earnest tones. Trust me, I will keep nothing 
from you, not even my suspicions, my fears. 
Come, then, you shall go with me, if you will, 
over to Blackthorne Tenements. We will be 
prepared for the worst, but it may be that we 
shall be happily disappointed.’’ 

In silence they turned and made their way 
down the road, until a black network of iron 
and timber against the moonlit sky showed the 
structure of the bridge; this they crossed 
speedily. Mrs. Rossman never forgot the 
scene. She felt as though she were in a dream, 
and she stamped her foot hard on the planks 
of the bridge to prove whether or riot she were 
awake. Beneath her flowed the river, a foul 
stream in the sunlight, turbid with refuse, 
powdered with sawdust from the adjacent mills 
and the rolling of sandbars; but now, touched 
by the magic wand of the moonlight, it seemed 
like a pure sheet of molten silver, barred by 
ebony. Here and there across its surface the 
reflection of lights twinkled and glowed with 
the softness of rose and the intensity of ruby; 
the iron span of the bridge, dew-drenched, 
gleamed like a gigantic strand of diamonds and 


NEW RELATIONS 


119 


pearls. A little skiff moored near one of the 
piers below — doubtless a filthy fishing boat 
in the daytime — looked like a silver jeweled 
leaf. And over all this the somber mystery of 
brooding darkness, and the silent majesty of 
the stars. 

It was so strange, so unreal, all save the 
torturing suspense, the dread, the horror of what 
she might, perchance, be coming to. For little 
Caroline was dead. Caroline was dead! She 
said the words over and over again to her soul. 

Suddenly she felt a steadying force in the 
midst of these conflicting emotions. It was 
God, the All Father, who spake to her, saying, 
“Peace, be still! Peace, be still!” 

Yes, she would be calm. She would trust 
him. Now, if ever,’ she must test his staying 
power. She would not be as a leaf tossed 
about on the flood of waters. She was his 
child; he had redeemed her; he was a being of 
infinite mercy; he would not try her beyond 
her powers of endurance. 

Ay! little Caroline was his child, too. “For 
of such is the kingdom of heaven.” Yes, little 
Caroline was his child — dear to her, ah, how 
dear! but dearest of all to him. And, whatever 


120 


THE COMING OF CAROLINA 


had happened to little Caroline, she had not 
gone beyond his keeping! 

Mr. Leonard, walking by this woman ^s side, 
felt her take on a new strength, as it were ; her 
step grew firmer; her figure no longer shook 
with tremors, and her face seen in the moonlight, 
though white as a marble statue, was also as 
calm. 

^‘Ah, she has had the battle and won the 
victory!’^ he said to himself, and he added, 
tenderly, ^^May God bless her, ever bless her!’^ 

And thus the two made their way across the 
river to where the streets grew narrower and 
more close together; where the air was foul, 
not only from the reeking dampness, but from 
filthy humanity. Presently, led by the sound 
of voices and moving feet, they came to a crowd 
surging this way and that, in a vain endeavor 
to peer into the black, reeking doorway of one 
of the tallest tenements lining the shore. 

But a sturdy group was guarding the front 
of the house, keeping back inquisitive intruders 
• — a group composed of Salvationists reinforced 
by a policeman or two. 

Suddenly among the former a face gleamed 
out like a white flower; it was turned eagerly in 


NEW RELATIONS 


l2i 

the direction of the minister and his com- 
panion. 

There was a minute’s concentrated gaze, and 
then, led by her own keen, clear instinct, the 
pale-faced Salvationist held out her hand 
authoritatively. 

“Please allow that gentleman and lady to 
pass!” she cried. 

And an intuition quite as keen made Mrs. 
Rossman murmur, “Ah, that is Caroline’s 
‘captain’.” 

And so it was. Caroline’s captain — sweet, 
consecrated Janet Lee, who, as we already 
know, a short time before had been summoned 
by an eager, childish voice, an innocent, ap- 
pealing face, at the window above. A dear, 
familiar face, a dear, familiar voice, and Janet 
had turned quickly to see the little one who 
called her. 

But she had been pushed roughly aside by a 
wild creature, frenzied with rage and drink, 
and the latter had entered Blackthorne Ten- 
ement first; had seized little Caroline as the 
fierce hurricane sweeps over a flower, and, an 
instant later, the child lay crushed at her 
feet. 


122 


THE COMING OP CAROLINE 


But Mag Smith’s wrath — that unholy wrath 
— brought its own punishment, swift and sure. 
Nature’s record of past excesses, the flaming 
fumes of foul whiskey, the fury of the ungovern- 
able temper — these brought their retribution 
to the unhappy woman. 

When the minister and Mrs. Rossman pressed 
forward, following the captain’s beckoning 
hand, and expecting to see the dead body of 
the little child so dear to them, they beheld, 
lying just outside the doorway, the form of a 
woman with great masses of tangled hair flung 
like a veil across painted cheeks, whose red was 
in ghastly contrast to a face waxen pale in 
death. 

“Yes, it’s Mag Smith,” said one of the by- 
standers, in reply to Mr. Leonard’s inquiry. 
“ Mag wor a tough one, she wor — a reg’lar holy 
terror. An’ to-night she wor on a big spree, sir. 
Mad as a hornet on account of her man Bill, 
who was nabbed by the p’lice for a purty job 
he done some months ago — a-breakin’ into a 
gentleman’s house up the river a-ways. Mag 
wor awful upset, an’ she’s been drinkin’ like 
a fish ever since. Come home here an’ went for 
her young one, but her towerin’ passion was too 


NEW RELATIONS 


123 


much for her, an’ she had a fit or suthin’. Bust 
a blood-vessel, I guess. They’re waitin’ for 
the doctor or the coroner now to tell what it 
was. ” 

“But the child, the little child ” Mrs. 

Rossman began, eagerly. 

It was the Salvationist captain who stepped 
forward and took the lady’s hand. “It is 
little Caroline whom you wish to see? Dear 
heart, do not look so sorrowful. The Lord is 
ever merciful. Caroline is not dead. Come 
with me.” 

She led them past the silent body of poor 
Mag — poor, sinful Mag — toward the door of 
a tenement house a few rods up the street. 
Its doorway was as noisome and for- 
bidding as that of the other, but after passing 
up two flights of stairs the captain threw open, 
the door of a room in strong contrast to its 
surroundings. 

For the apartment was most exquisitely neat. 
Every board of the floor was white and smooth 
with much scrubbing, while here and there lay 
a strip of bright carpeting; clean curtains were 
at the windows; a pot or two of plants on the 
sill, a bird asleep in its cage overhead. A small. 


124 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


round table, a few comfortable chairs, a tiny 
stove with a shining tea kettle — these were the 
simple furnishings. And there, among the 
clean, white pillows of the little iron bedstead, 
in one corner, was the face of a child, whose eyes 
opened and closed drowsily as the captain 
brought in the lamp from the entry way outside. 
Then into those same eyes came a look of 
startled recognition and wondrous joy as their 
glances rested on Mrs. Rossman and her com- 
panion. 

“Mammy! Oh, mammy!” cried a voice as 
sweet as a bird’s song. 

“Caroline! Little Caroline!” and the next 
instant Mrs. Rossman was kneeling beside the 
bed, her eyes raining down joyful tears on the 
soft, silken curls. 

“God be praised! God be praised!” Mr. 
Leonard murmured, reverently. 

“You may well say that, sir, ” said the captain, 
as her clear, earnest eyes met his. “The child 
had a miraculous escape. Aside from the shock 
and a bruise on her shoulder, she is unharmed. 
What might have happened,” she shuddered, 
“who can tell? Poor Mag! may the Christ 
who is always tender have mercy on her! Poor 



MRS. ROSSMAN WAS KNEELING BESIDE THE BED 




to- 


^ ; .’ - :" ' i ' ' •' •'■ '. ’ -f.^ • ,' ' ., \; ■ 


zr: 


' $ • 







NEW RELATIONS 


125 


Mag’s evil hand was held by death before it 
wrought its cruel will on little Caroline.” 

The captain paused, then, with an expression 
of great sweetness, touched Mrs. Rossman’s 
bowed head, as it were, with gentle bene- 
diction. 

Thank God, dear lady, that this night you 
have found your own! Yes, your very own. 
You look surprised. Do you want to know 
who Caroline really is? Ah, she is of your own 
kin, dear madam! You had a brother, did 
you not, who, years ago, left his home?” 

^‘My brother Robert?” Mrs. Rossman ex- 
claimed. ^^He died at sea.” 

And you never knew he had a wife, a sweet 
English girl, who did not long survive him? An 
orphan she was, and her last request was that 
her little daughter might be taken to you. 
Margaret Smith was entrusted with the child, 
but she proved faithless to the task, for she 
was strangely under the influence of this 
wicked man. Bill Sanders. Together they 
spent the money left by the dying mother for 
little Caroline, spent it in wicked, riotous living. 
They dragged the child from city to city, never 
wholly casting her off, for we must give Mag 


126 


THE COMING OP CAROLINE 


the credit of a little affection for Caroline — that 
is, when not under the influence of drink. 
There was a time when, in an outburst of con- 
trition and confidence, Mag told me the whole 
wretched story. I urged upon her that the 
only thing she could do to attone for her crime 
was to take the child to you, and this she prom- 
ised she would do. Now, this was about the 
time I expected that the dear Lord was to call 
me home, for I was suffering from what I sup- 
posed was an incurable disease, and was taken 
to the hospital. I remained there several 
months, and when I came out I found no trace 
of either Mag or the child, but I comforted 
myself with the hope that little Caroline had 
been taken to her own people. Yet I wanted 
to be sure. I heard recently that Mag had 
come here, or, at least, a woman answering to 
her description. This is one reason why, to-night, 
I persuaded our leader to march down here. 
Was it not the leading of God’s providence? 
To-night I heard Caroline’s appeal for help. 
I saw her dear face at the window. And now 
she is restored to you.” 

Mrs. Rossman was sobbing, yet a great joy 
was shining from her misty eyes. 


NEW RELATIONS 


127 


Caroline’s soft, little arms were clasping her 
neck with loving fervor. 

really belong to you! I really belong to 
you!” the child kept repeating, a beatific ex- 
pression on her face. ^^Oh, isn’t it wonderful, 
mammy? Nobody can part us now! Oh, can 
it be true?” 

^^It surely is true, dear child,” said the 
captain, smiling, and from a table near by she 
took a small bundle of soiled papers. 

found these in Mag’s possession, that is, 
they had evidently fallen from the waist of her 
gown as she lay on the stairs to-night, poor 
creature. They are all the necessary legal 
documents to prove Caroline’s identity, I think, 
sir.” And she held the bundle out for the 
minister to take. 

Mr. Leonard scanned one paper after another 
with a critical eye. When he laid down the 
last one, turning to Mrs. Rossman, he said, 
impressively: 

^Wes, it is all true. Caroline is undoubtedly 
your brother Robert’s child.” 

Oh, I belong to her!” Caroline broke in with 
rapture. 

Presently a thought came to her. She raised 


128 


THE COMING OF CAROLINE 


herself up again and reached out a hand to 
Mr. Leonard. 

“It seems as though I sort of belonged to 
you, too, my dear 'Jesus preacher’! Yes, I 
belong to you. Oh, we’ll all be happy together ! 
Shall we not?” 

The minister’s eyes sought Mrs. Rossman’s. 
Something there made his face glow with a 
sudden joy. He reached out and drew her 
hand, as well as the tiny one of the child, into 
his own firm grasp. 

“Yes, we’ll all be happy together, please 
God!” he said. 

And Mrs. Rossman did not draw her hand 
away from its safe keeping, for to her, as well 
as to the minister, the coming of Caroline had 
brought among many other beautiful things, 
the strange, ever-old, yet ever-new, story of a 
true, pure love. 


[the end.] 


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